


The Accident

by ChristinaTorbrook



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 404 Ben Solo Not Found, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Kylo Ren, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Manipulation, Medical Trauma, POV Second Person, Past Tense, Possessive Kylo Ren, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sith, Unhealthy Relationships, Violent Sex, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-09-24 12:45:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristinaTorbrook/pseuds/ChristinaTorbrook
Summary: A formerly decorated TIE pilot, you were retrained as a mechanic after an accident ended your flying career.  The new job was going okay, until an explosion in the hangar landed you back in med bay.  An unexpected meeting with Kylo Ren changed everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilia_ula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilia_ula/gifts).



> Dedicated to all readers who've had something they love stolen from them.

The first thing you became aware of was pain, followed by darkness. There were familiar scents; antiseptic, and the salty tang of bacta. Underneath that was an awful stench, your own filth. Then sound. Someone was saying your name, your real name, before switching to your designation.

 

“MECH-3815, can you hear me?” asked an unfamiliar voice. “I'm Dr. Yair.”

 

You groaned. You could hear her, but your vocal chords weren't working. Your cracked lips moved as you tried to speak, but you couldn't even croak. Just a wheeze of air.

 

“You were in an accident. You're in the _Finalizer's_ medical bay. We're going to take care of you,” the doctor said. “I'm giving you more pain medication, and when you wake up again, we'll talk some more.”

 

You slipped in and out of consciousness. Your face, covered in bandages, was hot and itchy, only your mouth and nose were uncovered. Your eyes _burned_. Your skin felt stretched too tightly. You looked forward to the times you passed out. It was the only time you weren't aware of the pain.

 

Sometimes there were voices. Sometimes you heard metal rattling, cloth, and the splash of liquid. Someone spread cool cream over your burning flesh. But everything was dark. 

* * *

 

**Sometime later**

 

When you finally woke up for good, you started to wish you had died. The doctor told you that when the engine exploded, your face was caught in the blast. You had been blinded. Both retinas literally burned out. Your face was scarred. Your upper body was scarred. And let's not forget the nerve damage in your hands from the first accident, that ended your career as a TIE pilot.

 

You would never see again, and you were disfigured. Hideous. _Useless_.

 

They said you had been in a coma for six cycles, and spent two days passing in and out of consciousness. Laying on the medical bed, sometimes you wished you could cry. But right now your tear ducts weren't working. Seared shut. The doctors were uncertain if this could be corrected. There were several ophthalmologists on board, but they were busy. You were low-priority. Fixing your tear ducts wouldn't return your sight or make you a useful member of the First Order, after all. Once you recovered, you were being discharged.

 

It was strange to hear someone describe this accident as an event that happened to you. You remembered waking up, the day of. Running into Jack in the hallway, someone you liked to flirt with. You'd thought about sleeping with him someday, but hadn't. You remembered taking first break. You used the washroom and the hand dryer didn't work. But after that, it's a blur. A hot, sweltering blur. Your next memory was the agony. Heat. Pain. The smell of something burning. Realizing it was you that burned. You couldn't see. And then...nothing.

 

Your friend who went by Cori (CR-1158) visited when she could. She had been your roommate back in training. She was a good roommate, and you had missed her once training ended and the two of you moved to separate barracks. You entered the TIE program, and she became a radar tech. Back in the good old days, when you two used to hit up the crew lounge on weekends and party until the late hours. The days before half your face melted off.

 

Today she smuggled a raspberry muffin into the med bay for you, and you devoured it gratefully.

 

"There's a new guy in my division and he is _weird_."

 

"Oh yeah?"

 

“His name's Matt. And he is _the worst_ ,” she announced dramatically. Literally the most incompetent tech I've ever met,” she said, and proceeded to tell you about his bumbling behaviour. “And it's not just that he sucks at his job. He's obsessed with Kylo Ren!”

 

You choked on your muffin. “Why?”

 

A long pause.

 

“Sorry, hon, I was shrugging. God knows. He talks about the Commander all the time. It's literally all he talks about.”

 

 _Weird_.

 

“I doubt he's actually a radar tech,” Cori laughed. “Probably some rich person's kid getting résumé experience. Anyway, I've got to get to work. I'll try to visit tomorrow. Rest up.”

 

“Thanks Cori.”

 

The nurse came later with more medication, and everything became nice and fuzzy. You passed the time by thinking of all the things that were gone from your life, and dwelled on your dating prospects. It was so stupid. You were barely alive, and right now all you could think about was how lonely the rest of your life would be, scarred and grotesque. You should have taken Jack up on his offer for an overnight visit when you had the chance. You were never getting laid again.

* * *

 

**The next day**

 

"I'm Matt. A radar technician.”

 

You groaned. Matt? Who the fuck is Matt? It's not like he could tell if your eyes were open anyway, under the bandages, so you kept quiet and ignored him. Maybe this cheery fucker would go away.

 

“I haven't seen you around the base. What do you think of Kylo Ren?"

 

Matt. Kylo Ren. Didn't Cori say something about this? You struggled to remember.

 

 _Tap-tap-tap_. Was that... a spanner being tapped against the rail of your bed? Didn't this asshole know you were supposed to be resting? What a jerk.

 

"Why do you care?" you asked.

 

"Kylo Ren is very inspiring" Matt confided. "I want to know what my coworkers think. He's a hero to us all."

 

"Sure," you agreed, hoping he would shut up.

 

No such luck.

 

"Why are you hesitant to talk to me?” he asked suddenly.

 

"Because an engine exploded in my face, _Matt_. Do you have any other stupid questions?” you snarled at him.

 

He made a weird noise. It almost sounded like something in the room broke. What the hell? He was breathing heavily. Ugh, what _is_ with this freak?

 

“Look. I...apologize for yelling at you. I shouldn't have done that. It was kind of you to visit me. But I am in _agony_. And my career is over. I'm sure Commander Ren doesn't care what _I_ think about him, and I don't have the energy to make chit chat. Please leave me alone.”

 

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor was the last thing you heard before unconsciousness claimed you. 

* * *

 

**The next day**

 

Something was deposited on your chest. You could smell a freshly baked muffin. Oh, _yum_. It smelled amazing. Bless Cori, such a good friend!

 

“I heard you like raspberry muffins.” A man cleared his throat.

 

This wasn't Cori. Who the hell was bringing you muffins?

 

Ugh, _that_ guy again. What was his name? You tried to remember, but you were on so many drugs you could barely remember your _own_ name, let alone some stranger's.

 

 _Matt_ , your brain supplied helpfully. The name just sprung into your head, as if somebody spoke straight into your mind. Huh. Weird.

 

“Uh, thanks Matt,” you said cautiously. “Who told you that?”

 

“One of your friends,” he said vaguely.

 

It must have been Cori. Most of your “friends” had dried up like water in the desert after you lost your pilot's wings.

 

You heard a heavy thump as he dropped into a chair. Seemed like Matt was back for another chat.

 

Okay. You could do this. It's not like there was anything else you could do. You weren't getting out of this bed anytime soon. Maybe this would kill some time.

 

“I hear you really admire Commander Ren,” you began cautiously.

 

You were treated to a short speech about Kylo Ren's finer qualities, before Matt asked you about _your_ opinion of the Commander. You were about to say something snarky, but held back. It was kind of refreshing to hear someone speak about a person they really admired, and with such enthusiasm. It would be cruel to mock that.

 

And actually there were two things you admired about Commander Ren. You didn't want to discuss either of them with Matt, however. Thinking about one of them caused you anguish, and the other was rather embarrassing. And potentially life-threatening. You didn't know this guy. You didn't trust him.

 

You could just make something up, maybe that would get him to go away.

 

Although... Matt had done you a solid. He didn't _need_ to bring you a muffin. From what Cori had told you, this guy was seriously obsessed with the Commander, and couldn't find anyone to go full fanboy with. He seemed a little lonely. Maybe you would tell him the truth.

 

Matt huffed impatiently.

 

Fine, you would be truthful. You would share one thing you admired about Kylo Ren.

 

“He's an incredible pilot,” you said. “Absolutely incredible.”

 

“Yes, _yes_!” Matt shouted.

 

Woah, doesn't take much to get this guy excited.

 

“Tell me what you like about his flying,” he said imperiously.

 

Your goodwill towards Matt screeched to a halt. No, nope, no way. Not going there. No thinking about any of _that_.

 

“No,” you snapped.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I don't want to,” you said.

 

“Tell me!” he insisted.

 

Your head hurt.

 

“Bring me another muffin tomorrow and I'll think about it,” you said. “I've got a headache. Could you let me rest? If I feel better tomorrow, we can talk about it, ok?”

 

There was an extended pause.

 

“Fine,” he huffed. 

* * *

  

Some blisters broke during the night, and now your wounds were infected. The doctor explained the debridement procedure with confidence. You were terrified. You didn't want this done to you. But the doctor explained this was a routine procedure, they needed to remove the infected tissue to promote healing. She promised you'd be asleep for the procedure, and your painkillers would be increased. You shouldn't feel anything during or after.

 

After it was over, the nurse said you had a visitor while you were out. But he was sent away. The nurse said your visitor was in a bad mood and had promised (threatened) to come back the next day.

 

The next time you woke, you were **high**. You were feeling pretty decent! You hadn't been this high since you were a teenager. These drugs were _good_. Your door whooshed opened and a semi-familiar voice grunted at you. And oh, the smell! Muffins!

 

“I came yesterday but they wouldn't let me in,” Matt said angrily.

 

“Was'sup, Matt?” you said. “How's Commander Ren?”

 

Matt sounded confused. You didn't blame him. Everyone was confused, except you. You knew the truth of the universe. You were floating, and the ship was floating. The darkness behind your closed eyelids was whirling with colour. Wait, could you even perceive colour in your mind if you couldn't see it? Your brain eagerly chased this thought, until a loud “hmph” interrupted you.

 

“It's time for you to uphold your end of the bargain,” he said darkly.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You will tell me what you like about Kylo Ren's flying,” he said sharply.

 

Oh, right. You had promised that, hadn't you?

 

"I will tell you what I like about Kylo Ren's flying," you agreed.

 

Suddenly it was like your mouth was in control of your brain, as the words started coming out. And strangely, the pain of the memory was absent today. Must be the drugs.

 

“I used to watch him fly, any chance I could, when I was a pilot,” you began. “He's _good_. Not just good. He's...” you struggled to find the words to express your admiration. “He's gifted. Talented. It was like the ship was an extension of himself. I've never seen such skill.”

 

“How competent are you to judge dogfights? State your qualifications,” Matt commanded eagerly.

 

Again it was like your mouth was running your brain! The words just poured out of you. These memories, which usually caused you such pain, today they were just a story you could tell to someone you barely knew. So weird.

 

“My parents were TIE pilots for the Empire. They were both transferred to flight school. Only the...”

 

“Only the top five percent of Imperial cadets were admitted to flight school,” Matt interrupted.

 

(“Flight school” is what the elite TIE academy was called, back in Palpatine's day.)

 

“Yes,” you said proudly. “And the failure rate was _ninety percent_. My parents graduated top of their class.”

 

“Impressive,” Matt said.

 

“My father retired after eleven years, he was injured in the line of duty. My mother was killed in action. They taught me to fly before riding a speeder. I got early acceptance to Tir. I graduated with top marks, and received an internship to assist training year ones, before I joined the First Order.”

 

“Only ten people per year get that internship,” Matt interrupted again.

 

“Yeah,” you said. “How do you know that? Aren't you a radar tech?”

 

“My grandfather was a pilot,” he said. “Keep talking.”

 

“Anyway, when I joined the Order, I flew for Aurean squadron,” you said proudly. “ _That's_ how I know the Commander is an incredible pilot.”

 

“I accept your assessment,” Matt said, and he sounded... you weren't sure. Less intense than previous visits, maybe?

 

“I used to dream that...” Apparently there was a limit to how much pain these drugs could block. You found yourself unwilling to continue.

 

“Tell me,” Matt said.

 

“I wanted to be on the Commander's squad. I trained every day, to be worthy of him. My superior was going to recommend me, before the accident.”

 

And just like that, it was like something in your mind slammed shut, and the torrent of words stopped.

 

“I'm pretty tired Matt.” 

* * *

 

Another morning, another freshly baked muffin. You could get used to this.

 

The nurse had dosed you with drugs about an hour ago, and you were just hitting that point where you were thinking really stupid things, and giggling to yourself. Like if you got out of here and were able to go out to the bar some day to pick up, maybe if you wore a skirt and kept your face hidden, you could get laid. Lots of people wore masks. There was an entire fetish industry devoted to it! Maybe your sex life wasn't over after all.

 

“What else do you like about Kylo Ren? I know there's something else you like,” Matt interrupted your thoughts.

 

The way Matt said that was kind of weird. _Had_ you told him you liked two things about the Commander? You weren't sure. Maybe you did? It had been a rough couple of days.

 

“Um,” you considered the question as you chewed your food. There _was_ something else. But... it was rather shallow. And dangerous.

 

“I'll have fresh muffins sent every day,” he said.

 

“Er,” you began. “Is the door shut? Is it just us in here?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said eagerly, leaning closer.

 

Sometimes, life slowed down when you were about to do or say something you would regret later. You often found yourself aware of the shift, that **this** is an important moment, I'm on a precipice. Yet you could never stop yourself from jumping off. Those were the times in life when you did something inappropriate, against your better judgement. This was one of those moments. Later, you would blame it on the painkillers.

 

You took a deep breath. “I think he's hot.”

 

“You think he's... hot?” Matt repeated, sounding confused. He leaned even closer. “When did you see his face?” he whispered sternly.

 

You winced. Your head felt funny again, a really weird sensation. “I haven't,” you said.

 

“Then how can you think he's hot?”

 

“The man's built like a durasteel wall! Have you seen his ass?” you snapped back.

 

“Have _you_?” Matt asked, and he sounded genuinely curious.

 

Ugh, that weird feeling in your head again! What the hell was that? “Once. Before I got grounded,” you said.

 

“You got...grounded? Your parents knew Kylo Ren?” Matt sounded very alarmed.

 

“No, _no_. Before I lost my wings. When I was a pilot,” you said bitterly.

 

“Oh. How did you see his ass?”

 

Matt was really persistent! Was _he_ looking for tips on how to see the Commander's ass? Maybe that's why he asked everybody about Kylo Ren. You shrugged mentally.

 

“He was in the hangar, close to my landing pad. The airlock glitched for a second and the suction lifted his robes. I got a _good_ look,” you smiled at the memory, then winced as the damaged skin on your face pulled tightly.

 

When the Commander's robes had swept up, you had seen a firm ass in leather pants and _damn_ did you want to see more. But alas! The moment ended, his clothing fluttered back into position, covering his assets once more. Shame.

 

Wait a minute. You thought that last part, right? Or did you say it out loud? You weren't sure. _Ugh_.

 

“So your interest in Kylo Ren is physical?” Matt sounded disappointed in you, yet also intrigued.

 

This was getting weird.

 

“No! I told you how I feel about his pilot skills. He's incredible. But it's not like I know the man,” you explained. “I've only _seen_ him in person a handful of times, and just twice up close. Pilots don't get to sit down and chat with him. It's not like I know his favourite book or anything.”

 

“ _History of the Revanchist_ ,” Matt answered automatically.

 

“There, see? I don't know him like that. I don't know anything _about_ him personally.”

 

“Except that he's... hot.” Matt sounded very uncomfortable with that word.

 

“ _And_ an amazing pilot,” you reminded him. You didn't want Matt thinking you were _completely_ shallow. Maybe fifty percent shallow was okay. “But yeah, he's _so_ fucking hot. With an ass you could bounce credits off,” you sighed dreamily. “And this stays between us forever!”

 

You couldn't believe you were telling someone this. This was a dangerous secret to spill. But if Matt ever told anyone, you could deny it, right? You sighed. “It doesn't matter though.”

 

“Why not?” Matt asked.

 

“Have you seen my face?” you said, incredulous. “They told me how much of my skin was burnt off. I'm pretty sure Kylo Ren isn't interested in bending over a burn victim to bareback her in the ass!”

 

Matt made a weird sound.

 

“Uh, you okay Matt?”

 

“Yes,” he choked out. “Well... if you're bent over, it's not like he'd see your face anyway. If you felt uncomfortable with your appearance.”

 

He said this thoughtfully, without a hint of mockery. Like he was trying to solve a problem, as if the issue would be your personal comfort, not that the Commander would be disgusted upon seeing you.

 

For the first time since you woke up, you laughed. “From your mouth to the Commander's ear! It's a nice idea. But it doesn't matter, you're not going to tell anyone I think the Commander is hot. If you do, I'll find out. I'll hunt you down, and end you,” you promised him. “As soon as I get out of this bed.”

 

Matt stood up to take his leave.

 

“I like blueberry muffins too,” you said hopefully.

 

As you passed out, you wondered idly what Matt looked like. You must remember to ask Cori. 

* * *

 

No company today, but a muffin was delivered to your room. You still couldn't get out of bed, and when you asked about that, the nurse said to not worry about that right now. You job was to rest. So that's what you did. That's _all_ you did. Everything was so dark.

 

The next time you woke up, something was different. You had dreamed someone was screaming. Was it your screams? You weren't sure. There were several voices in the dream. Somebody mentioned the Supreme Leader, that he wouldn't be pleased. That we can't lose him. You weren't sure who “we” was, or who they needed to save. Mostly you remembered the atmosphere of the dream, more than the words. The screams, and the other people were panicking. They were frantic. They were afraid.

 

You still couldn't move much on your bed, but you could turn your head slightly. The air felt... _charged_. You thought you heard something, and turned your head, straining toward it. “Hello? Is someone here?”

 

Whoever said that blind people had super advanced hearing was full of shit. You listened, and waited, until....there! There _was_ a noise in your room. Laboured breathing, to your right. You must have a roommate in the burn ward. You felt sorry for the person, whoever they were. The nurse had told you earlier only the worst burns came to this room.

 

“Don't look at me!” a harsh voice snapped. It sounded slightly familiar.

 

“I'm not,” you said. You didn't have the energy to turn your head back, but it's not like you could see anything anyway.

 

“ **Don't look at me**!” he screamed.

 

“I can't see anything. I don't see you,” you said.

 

“I know you're staring,” he accused.

 

If you were at your best, you might have shrugged it off, and sympathized. After all, he must be in great pain too, if he wound up in this room. But you weren't at your best. Your painkillers had worn off, you had a catheter, and you were sick of your own stench.

 

“In case you hadn't noticed, _asshole_ , my entire face is bandaged. I literally cannot see you. I heard a sound, just wondering what it was. You can fuck off now.”

 

Your head was starting to ache again, that weird tingling headache. The next thing you remember, your nurse accidentally woke you up as he changed your IV bag. His usual steady hands were shaking.

 

You listened intently. Someone, presumably your new roommate, was breathing regularly. He must be asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Tumblr account. I post stuff that goes with my SW stories (like visual timelines), and my favourite Kylo Ren photos. You can check it out here: revanrenispurrfect.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Sometime later**

 

The man in the med bay with you was moved while you were asleep. There was a change in the air, there were more staff scurrying around the halls, you heard people whispering about Starkiller. Shit had hit the fan, but nobody told you what was going on.

 

Your nurse had just removed the bandages from your face and cleaned your wounds. He said the doctor would stop by shortly to examine the wounds, and then fresh bacta and wrappings would be applied.

  

You scrunched up your face, relishing the precious moments of having the cool air against your skin. Those bandages made you feel like you were suffocating.

 

A few moments later, the door opened and shut again. Heavy footsteps. Whoever it was, they were silent. So it wasn't the doctor. Not Cori either. Nobody else was visiting you except...

 

“Hey Matt.”

 

“Hello, MECH-3815,” came a low voice. It sounded distorted. Not Matt.

 

“Uh, hi?” you said cautiously. “Who's this?”

 

Had they brought muffins too? You sniffed the air cautiously. You didn't smell any baked goods.

 

The door to your room opened again, and something noisy clattered to the floor. Your doctor's voice squeaked up a notch. “Co-commander! I wasn't expecting you, sir! What can I do for you?”

 

“You can leave,” the strange voice said.

 

 _Oh God_. You had never heard that voice speak before, but now you knew who this was. Commander Ren was in your room and you had never felt more vulnerable in your life. Did Matt spill the beans? Did Kylo Ren know you liked his ass? Does it hurt to die if you can't see it coming? Oh God. What the fuck was going on?

 

“Commander, sir!” You were extremely aware of how bad you must look and smell. Your hair hadn't been washed in weeks. Your wounds smelled. _You_ smelled. You still had a catheter.

 

“I understand you've become friends with a radar technician. Matt.” He said this slowly, as if it puzzled him.

 

“Uh, I think so, sir.”

 

“You _think_?”

 

“Matt started visiting me after I was admitted to med bay. It's really nice of him, sir.”

 

 _Oh no_. Was somebody spreading rumours that Matt was fraternizing with you during his shift? Cori said he was always disappearing during work hours. Did they think he was with you!? Did someone think there was something going on? You could lose your medical pension over this! Shit shit shit!

 

“Yet you don't consider him a friend?” the Commander asked.

 

You couldn't judge his tone of voice through that voice modulator. Where was this line of inquiry going? If inappropriate fraternizing was suspected, why would _the Commander_ of all people be investigating it? HR had tonnes of flunkies for this type of thing.

 

“Sir, I only met Matt a few days ago. He started visiting me after I woke up from a coma. I don't know him well enough to call him a friend yet. He's stopped by a couple times, mostly to talk about you. I don't mean to insult him. I think he's a kind man to visit me.”

 

There! That should make it clear you weren't in a relationship with Matt.

 

Wait. Should you have disclosed the muffins? Did those count as gifts?

 

“I see. I understand that you don't know enough about me to form an opinion either,” he said at last.

 

This was _so_ fucking weird. _Oh God_. Matt _did_ spill the beans. That fucker!

 

Kylo Ren knew you liked his ass. You were going to die.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

You heard the sound of a large body drop into a chair. What the _ever loving_ fuck?

 

“You were an Aurean pilot, red squad. Relieved from duty after an injury,” he said.

 

His voice sounded closer to your face. Your baser instincts took over for a moment. Kylo Ren's perfect ass was less than two metres away from you. If you weren't strapped into this bed, if he wasn't your commander, if you didn't look like charred meat, you could reach out and touch him...touch it... no, stop thinking about stuff like that!!

 

“Yes sir.” Your jaw clenched.

 

“Explain that injury to me,” he ordered.

 

You hesitated. Why did he have to ask about this? Everything was in your personnel file. You hated thinking about this.

 

“Now,” he said sharply.

 

“My ship took a hit. The shields malfunctioned. An electrical current went through the control panel and caused nerve damage in my hands. After I recovered, my reflexes were tested. I can't fire a steady shot anymore. Altitude and G's make it worse.”

 

You explained the situation factually, trying to sound as detached as possible. For the first time since you had woken up, you thanked the Maker that your tear ducts were fried, because otherwise you'd be crying right now. You had lived to fly, and losing your position was excruciating. The sharp whine of TIEs was the only thing that had ever made your blood sing. Flying was your first love.

 

“I see. And what is the reason for this?” he asked.

 

“This, sir?”

 

He was doing something. You heard a soft rustle. You tilted your head to the right, but like always, there was only darkness. Maybe he didn't understand why you were here?

 

“Sir, I can't see what you're doing. I'm...blind,” you choked on the last word.

 

“Of course,” he said. “My apologies.”

 

Kylo Ren was in your sick room, and he was apologizing to you? Mental note to ask what type of drugs the nurse is giving you.

 

“Um... yes, Commander. What were you asking me?”

 

“What has caused this current damage? Why are you here?”

 

Oh. He really didn't know.

 

Well, why would he? It's not like you're important anymore. You're just a mechanic now. Or you _were_ a mechanic. Now you aren't even that. And he's Kylo fucking Ren. You can't expect him to know about every wounded crew member.

 

“I've been told I was doing a repair. The ion engine exploded. They said my face was caught in the blast. I...” you took a deep breath. “I am blind in both eyes, sir. I have third degree burns on my face, and second degree burns on my neck and torso.”

 

 _I am ugly and useless_ , you thought to yourself angrily.

 

“You were told this? You don't remember?”

 

“No sir.”

 

Your head started tingling again. Maybe you were having a reaction to your medication? You hoped you could remember to talk to the nurse about this later. Unbidden, memories of the accident started slamming into you.

 

“Why were you repairing an ion engine?”

 

“Sir?” Was this a trick question? You were a mechanic. It was part of the job.

 

“Ion repairs are dangerous. Droids handle them for a reason. Why was one of my grounded fighter pilots repairing one?” he said.

 

“After I recovered from the nerve damage, I was retrained for TIE inspection and repair, sir. I've regained enough functionality for the work, I'm just slow. They assign me the unstable repairs, in case anything goes wrong.”

 

Again you said this factually, trying your hardest to keep the bitterness out of your voice. And hey, retraining was better than being discharged. If handling dangerous repairs was the only way to stay in the First Order, you'd take what you could get.

 

“If anything 'goes wrong'?” he repeated. “Explain.”

 

“My division is short on droids. My supervisor doesn't want to lose any. We've got more experienced mechanics, but he doesn't want to risk them on the repairs with unstable components. He said I have less to lose, sir. I do all the ion repairs.”

 

Silence.

 

All you could hear was the slight rasp of his breathing, and the hammering of your own heart. Should you keep explaining? Or wait? What the fuck should you do? Why didn't anyone in basic training cover what to say when _the Commander_ shows up to drill you about your workplace injuries!?

 

“What is your prognosis?” he asked, finally.

 

“I don't know sir. They haven't told me.”

 

Silence. Then came another of **those** moments, the ones that haunted your life.

 

“Maybe after my discharge, I could make a living as a fetish model. Some people like burn victims,” you said. Then you groaned internally. _Why_ did you say that!?

 

Time crawled by.

 

“You have been here several weeks,” he said at last.

 

He stood up and activated the comms panel. “Get in here. Now.”

 

Your doctor entered the room, and he interrogated her. He had very specific questions. Why hadn't a surgeon attended your injuries after you had stabilized? What was the ophthalmologist's opinion on your vision? Why hadn't the synth-grafting been started on your skin? Why were they applying bacta strips instead of sending you to the tanks? How long did they expect you to remain in med bay? He drilled her relentlessly.

 

The doctor's voice wavered as she answered. You were, simply put, not important enough. You would be discharged once you were recovered, and the surgeons were busy handling the wounds of soldiers and officers who would recover to serve the First Order. Your injuries were too severe, and thus you were at the end of the list for medical specialists.

 

He told her to wait in her office and dismissed her.

 

He stomped back across the room and sat in the chair again.

 

You said nothing. Questioning him was not your place.

 

“You have been reassigned, pilot,” he said abruptly.

 

Reassigned? To _what_? You were being medically discharged after this. Weren't you?

 

“Your new supervisor will arrive later to explain your new position. After you've fully recovered from your injuries.”

 

You started to laugh.

 

“Is something funny, pilot?”

 

 _Yes something's funny_ , you thought to yourself. _Kylo Ren has a great ass. I'll never fly again. Matt brings me muffins and now the Commander says I've got a new job? I'm blind and useless. So I'm obviously dreaming._

 

_I told the Commander I want to be a fetish model. This is **definitely** a dream. My nurse is giving me the good drugs. I'll thank him, once I get out of here. Before they kick me off base. But I'll never see that sweet, sweet ass again. And someone's calling me a pilot. This is definitely funny. _

 

You laughed even harder.

 

There was that a weird feeling in your head again.

 

 _Oh no_.

 

You knew the rumours the Commander could read minds. Was he reading your mind right now?

 

 _Kylo Ren has a great ass and mental powers. A perfect ass, if you wanted to be totally honest,_ your unhelpful brain supplied quickly. _**No**! Stop thinking about his ass! Broad shoulders, and so tall. Tall enough to bend you over and... no!! No no no! Stop thinking about his body. That's never going to happen. Nobody wants to fuck a burn victim. Especially not somebody as hot as Kylo Ren._

 

A strange sound escaped his helmet.

 

_Your sex life is over so you might as well start accepting that. Your favourite fantasy of him bending you over the wing of your TIE will never come to fruition. At least you have memories of the most perfect ass you had ever seen, along with that predatory, masculine strut._

 

_Not helping, brain!_

 

This was awful.

 

The metal chair scraped back, and your door opened and closed.  When sleep came, you didn't even try to fight it this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking about trauma a lot. As I write this story, I'm drawing on my memory for quite a bit so far. I received 3rd degrees burns as a child, and endured several eyes surgeries before age 5. I had a lot of self hatred over my burn scars, and was very self conscious of them.
> 
> I'm interested in exploring how the reader feels about her body and her relationship prospects once she gets out of med bay. Will she ever get laid again? These are the questions keeping me up at night lately.
> 
> There are degrees of blindness. Two of my relatives went "totally" blind, which is different from legally blind. You can be blind and still have some vision, but reader character is totally blind. My family members are my inspiration some of the reader's feelings.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time you woke, you were floating in darkness. A breathing mask covered your nose and mouth, and you were naked. This must be a bacta tank. You were completely submerged in liquid, unable to hear anything, unaware if anyone was observing you. It was very unsettling.

 

How long had you been here?

 

You moved the muscles in your face gingerly, you were able to stretch your mouth without pain. That was an improvement. You turned your head cautiously, and were able to flex your neck and turn to each side. Your arms were free. You raised a hand to your face, and felt the burn marks carefully. Your fingertips trailed down your throat, to the top of your breast, then down your ribs. The skin felt irregular, but it was hard to judge how bad the burn damage was while you were covered in the viscous bacta. It didn't cause pain to touch the wounds, at any rate.

 

Was someone out there waiting for you to wake up? Should you give them a sign?

 

From what you knew of the tanks, the longer you stayed submerged, the better your cell tissue healed. It's not like you were in a rush, there was no urgent task waiting for you when you got out.

 

You kicked your feet and the thick liquid rippled. It felt very strange. Like swimming in thick goop. You waved a hand through it, you could feel it parting around your fingers and then closing behind them. Ew.

 

You were tired. All this wiggling around was exhausting. God you must be weakened from staying in med bay so long. How much muscle tissue had you lost on that bed?

 

You opened your eyes, but the darkness remained. The thick liquid felt horrific against your eyeballs and you blinked rapidly. But maybe if you let the bacta do it's work, maybe it would help your vision? You opened your eyes as wide as you could, straining against the darkness for awhile. Nothing. You closed your eyes in bitter defeat. Of course it wouldn't help. The problem was your retinas, not your eyeballs.

 

You shifted your hips, and realized belatedly, the catheter was out! Your hand started to reach down between your legs to confirm this, when you paused. This would look _really_ bad if someone was watching you. Like the Commander.

 

Although if he was out there watching you, that was a blatant misuse of his authority. It certainly violated at least five rules in the employee handbook.

 

On the other hand, without his intervention, it was unlikely you would have been sent to the tanks for healing. Would it be wrong to show him your gratitude, by giving him a show? You must still have painkillers in your system to be thinking like this.

 

So if there was no catheter, had you been urinating in this tank? Nobody had ever mentioned how waste was filtered through bacta. Oh that was so nasty. Had you just exposed your eyeballs to your own urine? Gross! You concentrated on your body, wondering if you had to pee. When was the last time you had voided your bladder? It was really hard to tell. This was such a _weird_ experience.

 

There was not much to do in the tank except wiggle and think. Your thoughts drifted back to the Commander.

 

Why had he visited you in the med bay? It was clear Matt had told him something. Had he come to punish you for your insubordinate thoughts? If so, did your sad state evoke pity in him? Was he even capable of pity? He was the butcher of the First Order. How much pity could live in a man like that?

 

Or had he come because he was curious? Were you the only person on the ship to confess to finding him attractive?

 

Hmm. There was no way to know. But whatever his reasons, he was responsible for having you sent to the tanks, and you knew it was advancing your healing much faster than the small bacta strips the nurse had dressed your wounds with.

 

The Commander said he had reassigned you. You wracked your brain. What type of jobs were available for a blind officer? Before you joined the First Order you have to take a physical and a vision test. You knew two people who got the boot because their vision wasn't up to standards. So why keep you? You weren't trying to look a gift fathier in the mouth, but something about this entire thing was strange. He must have plans for you. But what?

 

Answers were not forthcoming.

* * *

 

Your thoughts drifted to your trusted and true fantasy, the one that started with you climbing out of the cockpit of your TIE, to find the Commander waiting for you in a deserted hangar. He stared at you silently.

 

You shamelessly ogled him, your eyes hidden by your flight helmet. You were careful to prevent your head from moving as you checked him out slowly and thoroughly. He was wearing his armour and cowl, that dark cloak which hung off his right shoulder and draped down his body. The silver detailing of his mask caught the light. The matte visor shielding his eyes was disturbingly blank, and the front of the mask covering the lower half of his face reminded you of a dangerous animal.

 

You realized you had been staring too long. He knew what you were doing.

 

“Is that the proper way to greet your superior, AR-35-2?” he said. The rebuke was delivered coldly.

 

It thrilled you to the core to hear the Commander say your pilot's designation. You loved it more than your own name, you had worked so hard for it, you had earned it.

 

“No sir. Please excuse my rudeness.”

 

He walked toward you, and you saw the hilt of his lightsaber bouncing at his hip. You swallowed nervously.

 

“Take off that helmet, pilot.”

 

You obeyed, and tucked the helmet under your arm, straightening your back.

 

“You didn't acknowledge my presence when you disembarked,” he said slowly, circling you. “You broke protocol. Why?”

 

“I was staring at you, Commander,” you answered, willing your voice not to waver.

 

He stopped behind you. “And why,” he ran a gloved hand through your hair, tousling it, “would you do _that_ , pilot?”

 

“Because I...”

 

He placed one hand around your throat, gripping firmly. He squeezed gently, before easing up.

 

“Because I like looking at you, sir.”

 

“Take off your flight suit, pilot.”

 

You obeyed, stripping quickly, standing before him in your black underwear.

 

He made a noise of displeasure.

 

You finished stripping, and stood at attention for his inspection, shivering in the cool air. He continued to circle you slowly, pausing occasionally to brush your hair off your shoulder, to rearrange your limbs to his satisfaction.

 

“That's better,” he muttered.

 

He advanced towards you, and you backed up, until you felt the cool metal of your ship pressing against your back.

 

“How many hits did your ship take?”

 

“Three, sir.”

 

He slapped you across the face brutally. You bit back your cries, and straightened proudly, eyes watering.

 

“Such confidence,” he said. “Such arrogance.” He slapped you again.

 

You straightened again, and he slapped you a third time, harder than before. This one made you cry out as the tears ran down your face.

 

He loomed over your body, which was displayed awkwardly to him as your back arched over the exterior of the cockpit. He ran one gloved hand down your body, stopping to fondle your breasts, while the other hand held you steady by gripping your hip.

 

You were standing on the tip of your toes, and shuddering at the contact. Your knees were quivering.

 

“Stay,” he ordered.

 

He continued his lazy exploration of your body, his hand questing lower, and lower, until he finally cupped your sex in his gloved palm.

 

“Tell me what you deserve, AR-35-2.”

 

You stared at him hungrily and wet your lips. “I deserve whatever you give me, Commander.”

 

“Hmm,” he said, squeezing you gently, working his fingertips through your folds. He rubbed against you slowly, working the tip of one finger inside. “Do you think you deserve to come, after taking three hits?”

 

“No sir,” you said, flushed with shame.

 

“Get on your knees, pilot.”

* * *

 

Your fantasy ended abruptly as a loud beeping sound emitted from the tank. Something was happening.

 

Guilt washed over you.

 

You didn't know much about the Force, but you knew the Commander could read minds. You were unsure if he needed to be actively trying to read minds, or if the thoughts of others just slammed into him constantly. What if your thoughts made him feel uncomfortable?

 

For the first time, you felt a flash of sympathy for the Commander. He was not popular in the First Order. You had heard the whispered jokes about bucket head, Crylo Ren, Darth Whiny. How terrible it must be to hear other people's private thoughts about yourself constantly, and even worse to hear unwanted sexual thoughts about yourself.

 

It wasn't right to objectify Commander Ren as if he was just a body. You had experienced sexual harassment once, and it had made you feel so small, as if the size of your breasts and the curves of your ass had anything to do with your worth as a person. You felt horrible to have done the same thing to a man you admired so deeply. Commander Ren was a gifted pilot, an incredible warrior, and a skilled tactician. He wasn't just a nice ass in a pair of tight pants.

 

You were deeply ashamed. It was one thing to confide in Matt that you thought the Commander was hot. Matt truly admired the Commander, it wasn't mockery. But it was completely different to fantasize about the man, to reduce him to fantasy fuel, as if he was not worth your respect, if there was a chance he was nearby and listening to your thoughts. You owed it to him to keep your thoughts professional when he was nearby.

 

You sighed deeply.

 

The bacta tank emitted another a loud noise and the liquid began to filter out of the chamber. Without the support of the buoyant fluid, you sank to your knees as the last of the liquid was sucked down the drain. An overhead speaker came on. A droid informed you that you were being taken to the showers.

 

Something whirred overhead and grabbed your body, you were lifted and deposited naked into a wheelchair. A papery blanket was draped over you.

 

“Greetings MECH-3815! I am med droid BQ-8972. I will escort you to the showers.”

 

“How long was I in the tank?” you asked.

 

“Three cycles.”

 

The droid wheeled you into what you assumed was a shower stall.

 

“There is a bench on the wall to your right,” it told you. “I will help you sit, and bring the soap. Don't try to stand yet, your leg muscles are weakened.”

 

You leaned on the droid as it helped you shuffle to the bench. A dial turn and then the water started. Hot, steaming water.

 

You screamed.

 

“Turn it off, turn it off!!”

 

The water stopped. “What's wrong, patient?” the droid asked.

 

“It's too hot,” you gasped.

 

The droid started up the shower again, and you sat in a chilly stream of water. You hid your face against the tiled wall, shuddering.

 

“Is this temperature alright?”

 

“You can make it a little warmer,” you said fearfully.

 

“I will increase the heat slowly. Please try to relax.”

 

Gradually the water warmed, and when the droid received your confirmation that the temperature was correct, it passed you the shampoo. You leaned into the lukewarm spray and reached up to wash your filthy hair, and received a terrible shock.

 

Your luxurious hair was gone. You ran your hands through your hair in horror. How had you not realized this until now?

 

“Who cut my hair?” you demanded.

 

“Your hair caught on fire in the accident, patient. Sixty-five percent of it was damaged. It was cut to preserve what healthy hair remained.”

 

Your hands explored your scalp carefully, running across your temple and the top of your skull, then down the nape of your neck. Your hair lay in tangled curls against the sides of your neck. It used to fall to your hips.

 

You lay back against the wall and sobbed.

 

“What's wrong patient? Are you in pain?” the droid asked.

 

“Yes,” you moaned. “Give me the soap.”

 

You lathered yourself as best you could sitting, and the droid assisted with your back and legs. You edged yourself off the bench carefully, and washed between your legs. Your legs were quivering from the strain, unused for so many days, they were weak. You flopped to the floor of the shower, and turned on your side, grimacing. You were not going to ask that droid to scrub your ass. There had been enough humiliation today to last a lifetime.

 

You reached back and cleaned yourself carefully, before washing your hands.

 

Exhausted, you lay on the floor, water pelting you as you cried bitterly, tearless weeping.

 

“Are you ready to be rinsed patient?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The droid adjusted the water streams, and the suds were rinsed off. It handed you a shower hose, and you finished rinsing the soap off your genitals, before the water stream stopped.

 

The droid helped you rise and guided you out of the shower stall. It handed you several towels, and once you were sufficiently dried, it gave you a robe and slippers. The droid was silent as it pushed your chair down a corridor.

 

“Where are you taking me?”

 

“To the operating room. You're having surgery today.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily for our protagonist, having friends in high places has bumped her to the top of the list for reconstructive surgery. Alas, her vision cannot be saved.


	4. Chapter 4

Waking up in darkness was starting to get really old. Your eyes were bandaged again. Your mouth was dry.

 

One thing you had certainly noticed about med bay: after the Commander's visit, people were checking on you _constantly_. Before he took an interest in your recovery, you were visited by the nurse once or twice per day. Now from 0700 to lights out, you got visited hourly, and during the sleep cycle, you woke several times to the sound of your door opening and the squeak of their shoes as the nurses made rounds.

 

You were visited by the doctor much more frequently too. You were starting to appreciate Dr. Yair's bedside manner. Before they put you under for the tear duct surgery, she sat with you to explain the procedure, which was based on a dacryocystorhinostom operation.

 

“Based on?” you had asked.

 

Just what type of back alley surgery was this?

 

She explained there was not a specific procedure for seared tear ducts, only blocked tear ducts, so that was the starting point. The top surgeon on the _Finalizer_ would be operating. As Dr. Yair got into the nitty-gritty of the procedure, you tuned out. You didn't really want to know the finer details. It sounded horrifying.

 

As you understood it, there would be incisions, drainage, microscopic repair, and metal tubes would be inserted to scope out the depth of the burn damage. At that point, the surgeon would either clear the blocked passages, or repair them using synth-graft material, so basically if she couldn't save your tear ducts, she would replace them.

 

They expected this to be a same-day procedure, you would have sutures for a week or less. Two small scars were expected, but with bacta and time, they should be unnoticeable.

 

Your nurse was with you when you woke up, and he got you settled comfortably. The surgeon visited you later. The operation went smoothly.

* * *

 

Your door slid open.

 

“Sorry, they're out of muffins,” Cori said apologetically. “I brought you some fruit and Endrolian apple juice. Here.”

 

She brought a straw to your lips and you sucked gratefully. Oh that was nice.

 

“Be honest with me? How do I look?”

 

Cori clicked her tongue. “It's hard to tell hon, your eyes are wrapped. I see some swelling by your nose. But your face looks better than last week, the burns aren't as red.”

 

You ran a hand down your jaw gingerly, tracing the rough skin. “Once these stitches are out of my face, they're doing the graft.”

 

“I'm sure that will help,” she said. “Have you gotten any more details about your new assignment?”

 

“Nope. They said I'd receive the details once I was released from med bay.”

 

You hadn't told anyone who had visited you in the med bay, or informed you of a new assignment. You had a feeling he would not appreciate that information being spread around.

 

You reached for the table tray on your bed and found the plate. The fruit was sliced into small pieces, and you sighed in contentment as you popped a piece into your mouth. “I'm starving!” you announced. “They haven't let me eat since yesterday.”

 

“There's a muffin on your dresser,” Cori said in surprise. “Somebody must have delivered it while you were in surgery.” She brought it over to you.

 

Ooh, this one was banana. You devoured it happily.

 

Cori filled you in on the gossip while you ate, and you discussed the Starkiller fiasco. It was hard to believe the base was gone, and so many lives lost. Over fifty thousand people dead. There had been no time to evacuate, and not many escaped before the base exploded. Some of the people you trained with had been sent to Starkiller. You had a cousin on the base too. Those fucking rebels.

 

“I think Matt got fired,” Cori said. “I haven't seen him around lately.”

 

You felt ambiguous about that. You had started to look forward to his visits, before he betrayed your confidence. You never got the chance to tell him off for sharing your secret with the Commander. That son of a bitch owed you an apology, and now it looked like you'd never get it.

 

“That's too bad,” you said politely.

 

“Not really. He was a terrible tech!” she reminded you.

 

“Was he really _that_ bad?”

 

“Yup. Terek had to follow him around and correct his mistakes half the time.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really,” she said.

 

“It's surprising he lasted so long, even if he had connections,” you said.

 

Terek was a supervisor who often handled special projects that needed a delicate touch. Having Terek babysitting Matt was a colossal waste of resources.

 

“What does Matt look like?” You'd been curious about this for awhile.

 

“Blonde hair, brown eyes I think? Tall.”

 

“Was he cute?”

 

“He wasn't...” she paused, “ugly, per se, but I got the feeling he didn't care about impressing anyone. I think he might have been cute if he did something about that hair. It was awful. And his glasses weren't doing him any favours.”

 

“Glasses? How did he get in with glasses?”

 

“He must have important parents. Or rich parents. I think he was your type,” she said with a laugh.

 

“What does _that_ mean?”

 

“He had a nice ass. His uniform was really baggy, but it was a _nice_ ass. I saw him bent over in the hall a few times inspecting panels. And I know how much you like a good ass!”

 

“Shut up,” you muttered.

* * *

 

The days passed slowly. A muffin was delivered every morning, so Matt had kept his word on that.

 

Eventually it was time for your skin graft.

 

Afterwards, they told you it had gone well, but you'd have to take their word on that. Your skin felt strange to your fingertips. You could feel a difference between your real skin, and the synth-graft they had placed onto your body. You wondered constantly what it looked like.

 

Finally, you were discharged from med bay! Cori escorted you to your new quarters, a small single room with a private fresher. You had stopped counting after stubbing your toe twenty times on your furniture as you practised learning your quarters without sight. Someone had already moved your clothing and personal effects over, which didn't amount to a lot. Your personal datapad, hygiene items, a stuffed loth-cat, and the video game console that was now useless to you.

 

Cori had hung up your photos, even though you couldn't see them. There was a photo of you with your parents before your mother had died. Another of you and your father when you graduated from Tir. A picture of your pet cat Tofu (you were only four when you named her, and what you were trying to say was “TIE fighter”, but Tofu is what came out, and the name stuck). There was a candid photo of Lord Vader that your father had taken during his service. That one was a particular favourite, you were raised to respect Lord Vader and were very proud of your parents' long service to the Empire.

 

Your new room was in a different area of the ship, and you had no idea where you were, or where anything was. You'd been told that you would meet your new supervisor once you recovered from your injuries, and there was no reason to doubt the Commander's word, so you tried to relax. But you were very bored.

 

You called your father. He was relieved to hear from you, but worried that you declined a video call. The conversation opened up a lot of wounds you thought you were doing a great job repressing, so you ended the call quickly.

 

Cori had thoughtfully switched your datapad to respond to voice commands, and you set the alarm for 0600.

* * *

 

Your alarm clock was the shrill whine of a TIE fighter which erupted from your datapad at max volume, you never hit snooze. You liked to listen to it play. You could pretend you were still flying in the early morning, before real life set in.

 

You managed to find your shower, and get clean and dressed, hopefully looking presentable. Running a comb through your short hair made you upset, and frustrated since you had no idea how your hair looked. Was it sticking up, or doing something stupid? You ran a hand over your face. The surgeon had told you that the skin graft had taken very well, but your skin still felt different to you. Not knowing what your face looked like was torture.

 

You dressed in a First Order-issued outfit. It was very basic, and very black; a long sleeve shirt, a fitted jacket with a high collar, trousers, boots, and cap. Every grunt had a basic version of this outfit. Then you sat down to wait.

 

At 0730, your doorbell chimed. You greeted the unknown person outside.

 

You wondered for a moment if it was _him_ , but there was no rasp of a vocal modulator, so it couldn't be. The man outside introduced himself as Tom Upari, director of crew transfers. He greeted you by your real name, and came in to discuss your new assignment.

 

The first surprise of the morning was your new position required high-level security clearance. You were not to discuss your work with anyone outside your unit and a short list of commanding officers. Any discussions about your work could only take place in the “echo chamber”, the room where the work itself was performed.

 

You would be listening to transmission recordings, and verbally transcribe anything questionable into a database, which senior Intel officers would review. The transmissions were from a variety of sources, from words spoken in the cafeterias and maintenance halls, to the radio chatter of pilots, and what the stormtroopers said to each other via their helmet comms.

 

A stormtrooper had defected, and this was causing problems. Rumours had been cropping up throughout the First Order, and your job was to listen in on conversations held by your peers, looking for anything pointing to someone defecting, a coup, a rebellion in the ranks, anything that could be a sign of unrest within the Order. You were conflicted on going from a pilot, to a mechanic, to spying on your fellow officers, but you were grateful to serve. It was an important role. If other troops followed the lead of that traitor stormtrooper, that could have disastrous consequences for the First Order.

 

Due to your disability, you had been assigned an assistant droid, which would confirm the identity of all people interacting with you in the echo chamber, which is where all of this work took place. Your work station was equipped with biometric security precautions, and your droid would give the green light on the people you were approved to discuss your work with. Your droid would be delivered by noon, and you were to report to your work station at 1400 for orientation.

 

After Upari left, you looked him up in the company database. He was high-level HR. Why would he be taking such an interest in your case?

 

The second surprise was the gear head who delivered the droid. She fitted you with a short-range micro transmitter that was attached to the rim of your ear. She booted up the droid and paired the transmitter to the droid. The transmitter allowed the droid to speak directly to you at a volume others could not overhear, and your droid would serve as a seeing-eye companion. She linked your datapad to the transmitter as well, which would let you listen to music and audio in public without needing headphones, as long as you listened at low volume.

 

Your droid was cube shaped and balanced on three wheels. It came up to your knee, and was programmed to stay to your left and keep pace with your steps. It was programmed with a map of the _Finalizer_ , and would guide you as you traversed the cavernous halls of the ship.

 

The technician programmed a few destinations for you; your quarters, your new work station, and the nearest med bay, cafeteria, after hours lounge, and gym. She explained how to pull up the interface to add new locations as needed.

 

After she left, you got to know your new droid. It's name was 1R-15, and it spoke with a female voice. You nicknamed it Iris. You added Cori's quarters and the women's washrooms on this wing to the droid's quick access directory. You checked the language option, and found the droid was capable of speaking in thousands of accents. You selected Eriaduan, to emulate the sound of home.

* * *

 

The new job was going very well. Iris had proven a very capable companion. So far you had no trouble navigating your way to work and home, although you preferred to walk slower with your right hand touching the wall. Iris notified you each time you were approaching a door or hallway intersection. Having Iris always on your left was a comforting assurance that nobody would run into you.

 

On the fourth day after your shift ended, you exited the echo chamber, and noticed what you had come to think of as “the Commander effect” in the hallway. He was nearby. You could tell by the way a ripple of silence passed through the crew. The easy chatter of people walking to and from their stations died abruptly when somebody spotted Commander Ren, and one person's uneasiness spread quickly to everyone in the vicinity.

 

You trusted Iris to prevent you from walking into him, so you kept walking the direction you had chosen, home to get changed. It was uncanny not being able to see where he was, and the hush of the crew persisted for a long time. He must be going somewhere, and you seemed to be following him.

 

Once you reached your quarters, you had a quick shower, cleaned your teeth, and threw on your fancy lingerie because it was your weekend, and why not? Although the chances of getting laid were low, considering the scars on your face, but hope springs eternal. You grabbed a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Iris gave you confidence that when you reached for your clothes you were grabbing what you intended to wear, and confidence went a long way towards helping you adjust to living as a blind person. You picked up your datapad and headed for the lounge.

 

Along the way, the Commander effect was still present in the halls, he must not be finished in this wing of the ship. But it wasn't your business. It didn't take long to reach the lounge, you ordered a bottle of Kuat Premium.

 

You had nothing to do in the morning. You liked this lounge. The seats were very comfy, and sometimes, like tonight, you scored one of the big plush armchairs by a window. Who cares if you couldn't appreciate the view? You could appreciate the chair. You would stay here for hours tonight. Cori was working so you weren't expecting company.

 

You opened the audio book you were working your way through, and set the datapad on Iris's top surface, the droids “head”. Having a cube droid was proving very useful! You stretched your legs out onto the low table in front of you, taking a large sip of your ice cold beer. When you closed the book the other day, you'd been on chapter three. You weren't much for non-fiction, but Matt had mentioned this book to you, and curiosity got the better of you. Tonight you started the chapter that explained more of the history of the fallen Jedi Revan.

 

The book detailed Revan's origins as a Jedi, and included speculations on his motivations when he went to war against the Mandalorians. Although you were familiar with the Mandalorian war, having learned about it during your academy days, much of this chapter was difficult because your knowledge of the Jedi was lacking. You knew almost nothing about the Force. You believed in it, certainly, but until joining the First Order and witnessing Kylo Ren harness its power, you had not seen the Force in action.

 

Your father had spoken of the Force occasionally. He had served under Lord Vader, and had seen many things that convinced him the Force was as real as the stars in the sky. But hearing about the Force and seeing its destructive powers were two very separate things.

 

You'd have to rewind this chapter, you weren't listening.

 

Iris alerted you that someone was trying to gain your attention. You had company. You paused the chapter and looked up expectantly. Sometimes people would approach you without realizing you were blind, and you resented having to start conversations by saying “I'm blind”. It was a buzz kill.

 

It was just the bartender though, he brought you another beer.

 

“Thanks,” you said.

 

The bartender's voice shook. “It's, it's uh, courtesy of Commander Ren.”

 

Your head swivelled around out of habit.

 

“Is he here?” you asked.

 

“Yes,” the bartender said in a hurried whisper. “He's coming over.”

 

You sat up in your chair and took your feet off the table. You heard heavy footsteps, and the rasp of his breathing. He was silent. Should you say something? Or wait to be addressed? Should you stand?

 

“No,” he said, to your unspoken questions.

 

You relaxed, only slightly. While the sight of the Commander had inspired nervousness in the past, you were reasonably sure he had no plans to hurt you right now, but he _was_ a man prone to extreme moodiness and violent reactions. You believed he wouldn't harm you deliberately, since he'd intervened in your convalescence, but you weren't kidding yourself either. He had shown you kindness, but you were no one to him. What had brought him here?

 


	5. Chapter 5

You were extremely self-conscious. Had you known you would be in Kylo Ren's presence tonight, you would have taken more care to look pleasing for him. Although you had no idea what would please him. Maybe he liked women in t-shirts and old jeans? Where was Matt with the Kylo Ren intel when you needed him?

 

Even if the Commander didn't care for casual clothes, you were willing to bet he'd appreciate your lingerie, at any rate. _If_ he ever saw it. Although he definitely wasn't going to, because nobody wanted to go to bed with someone as ruined as you. So you really ought to nip this line of thinking in the bud. A commanding officer visiting your sick bed does not equate wanting to fuck you. Whatever his reason for seeking you out tonight, it wasn't sexual.

 

You clenched your hand into a fist and your nails bit into your palm. You itched to touch your own face, to reassure yourself the skin on your cheek was relatively smooth, compared to a few days ago before the reconstructive surgery. You were terribly aware that the skin on your throat and what lay under your shirt were still ghastly. Synth-grafts were done in stages, and the surgeon wanted to see how your face healed before moving on to the rest of your body. You could be strutting around in a gemweb cocktail dress tonight and it wouldn't make a fucking difference because there's nothing sexy about third degree burn scars.

 

And hadn't you sworn to yourself to never think of shit like this if the Commander was near? Good job sticking to that resolution!

 

You sat back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other nervously, lowering your gaze to where you knew the view port was. Your body was positioned at an angle in the chair, so anyone sitting in the companion chair across from you would see the left side of your face in profile. The side that wasn't ravaged by fire.

 

Although it didn't really matter with Commander Ren, considering he had seen your face before the new skin was grafted on. He had seen you when your epidermis had been burnt off, and your layer of subcutis tissue had been exposed in the bubbling, crackled mess that had once been your jaw. The Commander had seen inside of you in a way that no man ever should, which was strangely much more intimate than knowing he could read your thoughts. He had seen the pieces that should never see the light of day. So there was no point in trying to hide it from him now.

 

He took the seat opposite you, dropping into it with a thud. You took a drink of your beer and turned slightly to face him head on.

 

You waited to hear the sharp intake of breath that accompanied the moment when people saw you, but there was nothing aside from the steady rasp of his breathing.

 

The lounge had become unnaturally quiet. You heard the hiss of the door open and shut repeatedly and arrested chatter, as officers entered and immediately turned around to leave once they saw who was inside.

 

“Thanks for the drink, sir.”

 

Silence.

 

It seemed the Commander was not in the mood to talk. That was fine. You were okay with silence. It felt rude to start listening to your book while he was here with you, so you'd just think to pass the time. And you definitely, absolutely, were not going to think about _anything_ that could offend him.

 

Muffins were a safe topic to think about. You were still surprised that your daily delivery of muffins continued after your release from med bay. Had Matt pre-paid for a month, or a quarter? How long could you expect muffins? It was a delicious gift. And very generous. Even if Matt couldn't keep his mouth shut, daily muffin delivery was amazing.

 

It's too bad you hadn't gotten his last name. You'd send him a thank you note if you could, but there were thousands of Matts in the First Order. If you had his last name, you could call him up and say “What **the fuck** , Matt!?”, for his betrayal of your confidence. Plus you missed his insights into Kylo Ren.

 

The Commander shifted in his chair slightly. You took another drink.

 

Was the book any good? Or was it too early to judge? Maybe it was one of those novels that really needed a second reading to appreciate, and perhaps it would all come together once you understood more of the history. Fucking Matt. He was probably the only person on the ship, beside present company, who had read it. You could have talked about it with Matt, if he hadn't gotten fired. It would be nice to get somebody else's opinion on the book. But it was going to take more than two beers before you asked Commander Ren his thoughts on your reading material.

 

You thought about the time your father took you to see Averam. After a rebel cell was eliminated, he had taken you to the beautiful planet to celebrate the Empire's victory. It hung in space like a blue jewel, and the sight of its deep waters had stunned you. It was so much more colourful than Eriadu. You'd gone swimming in the ocean, and spent a few days doing tourist stuff after the victory ceremony was over.

 

You had wanted to go back there to see it again. Except now it was weird to think about colours. All you saw was darkness, and when you thought of colour and shape, you could trace it in your mind's eye, sometimes. There were days when images were vivid and sharp in your mind, but other times they were distorted. It's hard to imagine colour when you can't see it anymore.

 

You took another drink.

 

It was the same for the photos in your room. It hurt so much to not be able to see them anymore. Sometimes you could remember those pictures of your parents so clearly in your mind, and other times the details were blurry, just shapes in the darkness. You could describe your parents, but you could not always mentally create the image of them.

 

Across from you, the Commander shifted again.

 

You took another drink.

 

You missed your cat. You missed seeing Tofu's sweet little face. Your cat had been your constant companion until the day she died, the year before you entered the academy. She had a wide face, and often blinked at you slowly with those large, luminous eyes. There were times you thought the two of you were secretly communicating. She loved to be held, and would wrap her paws around your shoulder as you carried her, bumping her face against your chin. She would squeeze her way in front of your datapad while you studied. You had to kick her off your pillow every night. She was very vocal about having breakfast on time.

 

You took a drink.

 

You heard General Hux had a cat. Maybe you'd be allowed to have a cat, one day.

 

Your favourite thing to think about was TIEs, beginning with the shiver of excitement every time you had zipped up your flight suit and locked the helmet into place. The calm of doing your pre-flight checks. Waiting for the engines to warm up, and listening for the slight hiss they made once the reactors were hot. Strapping into your seat, gripping the controls. The ear-piercing roar of the thrusters once the ship was in the air, and the shrill blast of the laser cannons. It never failed to excite you. The absolute adrenaline of shooting down rebels in a blast of green fire.

 

But actually, thinking about TIEs tended to lead to the type of thoughts you were trying very hard to avoid right now, so best to leave those memories alone.

 

You thought about your father again. Before the accident, you two had gotten into an argument on your last video call, and you had hung up. And now you'd never see his face again. It was lost to you forever.

 

You tipped the bottle back and drained it.

 

The Commander stood abruptly, his chair skidding back as he left.

 

A minute passed, maybe two. You didn't feel like spending the rest of the night in the lounge anymore. You made your way over to the bar.

 

“I need a shot. Something strong.”

 

The bartender slid a glass to you, and you choked it down.

 

“What was _that_?” you gasped once the burning fire in your throat subsided. 

 

“Concordian vodka, Mandalorian hooch.”

 

“He's gone?”

 

“He's gone. Uh, you alright, honey?”

 

“Gimme another shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to the same song on repeat for hours, “Let go” by Son Lux. It's my new anthem. Look at the clock. Has it really been nineteen years since the Y2K hysteria? I feel old.
> 
> I'm reminiscing on how my brain responds to trauma. I have some concrete memories of the day I was burned; where we were, what caused the accident, and being rushed to the hospital. But I remember nothing of the medical treatment itself, and my next memory of the incident is weeks later, while learning to adjust and live with the injury.
> 
> Does the brain forget trauma, to protect itself? I wonder how other people perceive their own trauma. Do they have blank spots too? 
> 
> I was shoved hard, and I landed directly on a kerosene space heater. This caused 3rd degree burns and the scars will never fade. The heater looked like this one. The metal cage on the outside heats up to lava temperature, and it burned me through my clothes. While I was googling pictures of these devices trying to find the right type, I was filled with absolute terror.
> 
> This picture is similar to the type of kerosene heater I was burned by, this is a link to my Tumblr:  
> https://66.media.tumblr.com/bd81c122fcd8348992404009405077e3/tumblr_pkl3smhyf11y30vbvo1_400.jpg


	6. Chapter 6

“Tell me what you deserve.” His voice was cold and impersonal through his mask.

 

He backhanded you.

 

“Nothing, Commander.”

 

“Tell me what you _need_.” He struck you again.

 

The blow rocked you and you stumbled, falling to your knees. A spark of arousal shot through your body in anticipation.

 

“Worthless thing. So needy,” he muttered. One hand caressed your jaw tenderly, before pulling back to deliver another strike. “Tell me.”

 

“I n-need this! I need it! I need you, sir! Please.”

 

You sat up from your bed in a panic, flushed and panting. Your dreams about Kylo Ren had become more frequent after finding him at your bedside in the med bay.  It was just after 0400 and your head was pounding. Add Mandalorian hooch to the list of things you would never drink again. The skin on your chest felt tight and itchy and you struggled to not scratch the scars.

 

You wondered what the Commander was like in the bedroom. Was he as violent as you pictured? He might be a tender lover. He might even be abstinent. Although that seemed a crazy notion. Even swathed in his dark robes, it was clear the man had impressive musculature and grace. He was a powerful man. You couldn't be the only person on board lusting after him.

 

You wondered what exactly Matt had said to Kylo Ren to cause the Commander to visit you. Was it as simple as “a girl in med bay says you have a nice ass, sir”? Or perhaps your ire at Matt was misplaced. Maybe Matt didn't spill your secret, and the Commander had read his mind. Maybe Matt hadn't ruined your blossoming friendship after all.

 

God you were horny. The Commander had spoken a single word to you last night. “No.” And somehow it turned the blood in your veins to fire. Sitting beside him, wondering what he was thinking, trying not to think of him sexually, it had been sheer hell. And you were assuming that Kylo Ren could only read thoughts _while_ the person was having them. You had no idea how it all worked.

 

Maybe your feeble attempts to think of anything else besides his ass were doomed to fail. Maybe reading thoughts was as simple and intuitive to him as breathing was for everyone else. Maybe while you sat beside him reminiscing about your cat and your family to distract yourself, he was in your head examining every dirty thought you'd ever had.

 

Does he know how long you've wanted him? Does he know all the things you've imagined him doing to you? Does he know there hasn't been anyone in your bed since you saw him for the first time? Does he know exactly how much you like his body? And how much time you've spent imagining him naked? Wow. That would be so humiliating.

 

You were due in med bay for a follow up. It was doubtful you were getting back to sleep.

 

You stumbled to the bathroom to clean your teeth, and retreated to bed. You started up the audio book, and listened to a few chapters while you waited for night cycle to end.

* * *

 

The surgeon examined you and clicked his tongue, making several “hmm” noises as he touched the skin on your face and neck.

 

“I'm afraid the graft isn't taking.”

 

“What does that mean?” you asked.

 

“We're going to have to remove it and start over. Your body is rejecting it, that's why the swelling isn't going down like it should.”

 

You sighed. Perfect, just perfect.

 

“When can I have the surgery?”

 

He tapped a few things on a datapad, and told you the surgery would be in two days time.

 

 _Wow_. That was unexpectedly fast.

 

The doctor would speak to your supervisor to arrange your sick leave, he wanted you to have several days of rest after the surgery to see how the new skin graft settled.

* * *

 

You were at the lounge a little earlier than usual, and managed to claim your preferred window seat again. The lounge was crowded tonight, and you nursed your second beer. While you couldn't tell that people were staring at you, you felt like they were, and you murmured to Iris to check the room.

 

Your droid confirmed several people were glancing your way constantly. You had a feeling it wasn't because they were into burn victims. Word seemed to have gotten around that Kylo Ren had sat with you the night before. You wondered if anyone was brave enough to come over and ask you about it. If they did, you would not humour their questions. Whatever the Commander said to you, or didn't say to you, was private. You would treat every interaction with him as privileged and confidential.

 

Tonight you wore a black hoodie over a grey tank, and your favourite jeans, the ones that made your ass look good. You were glad for the hoodie, it let you hide some of the scars without having to put a bag on your head. Although by now everyone knew what your face looked like, so it was really more for your comfort than anything else.

 

You were relaxing with your feet up, listening to your book again, when the conversation in the lounge died abruptly.

 

“Iris, who just entered the room?” you muttered under your breath.

 

The droid confirmed your suspicions. Kylo Ren had arrived.

 

You finished your drink, and tried to look casual. This time, you weren't going to sit up straight or put your feet down. After all, this was after hours, and the Commander was approaching you in a social setting. Maybe some formality could slide a little?

 

The bartender brought you a fresh bottle of Kuat Premium that you hadn't asked for. So the Commander _was_ here for you again. You bit your lip in anticipation.

 

You heard strained whispers in the room as the tread of heavy boots approached you, then he sat in the chair opposite you. You tipped the bottle towards him, and took a sip.

 

“Hello sir. Thanks for the drink.”

 

Silence. You focused on the rasp of his breathing, tuning out the hushed conversation around you. The slight hiss of air cycling through his mask was a peculiar sound, but you were starting to like it. It was a reminder that he was really here, with you. Again.

 

“Sir, do you mind if I talk?”

 

Silence. You took another drink. You interpreted this to mean he didn't want to engage you in conversation, when he surprised you.

 

“If you like,” he said slowly, his mechanical voice sounded low and disinterested.

 

 _Oh shit_. You didn't think he would actually say yes.

 

 _Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic_!!

 

“Er, do you spend a lot of time in the lounge sir?”

 

 _Brilliant_.

 

“No.”

 

_Of course you don't!_

 

You busied yourself peeling the label off the neck of the bottle in your hands. “Do you drink alcohol sir?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Apparently he was a minimalist when it came to conversation. Maybe you should try open ended questions. You took another sip.

 

“What do you drink, sir?”

 

“Beer usually, sometimes wine.”

 

“I don't like wine, sir. White is too sour and red makes my face blotchy.”

 

“I see.”

 

“At least one of us does!”

 

 _Fuuuuucckkk_.

 

Silence.

 

“That was a joke, sir. Because I'm, you know...” you trailed off.

 

 _Awkward_!

 

“Then it's a good thing I didn't send you a bottle of wine, officer.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

Was he making fun of you? Stars. _You'd_ be making fun of you, if you were him. You took a large swig of your beer. Time to move on from that disaster. “Do you ever drink here, sir?”

 

“No. Not here.”

 

Of course he wouldn't drink in public. You doubted his helmet had a hole for a straw.

 

He made a soft sound. Had he heard that? Was he laughing at you?

 

Where did he go to drink? Was there a top-clearance bar for commanding officers only? Did he take his helmet off there?

 

“No,” he said, and this time he was definitely chuckling.

 

It was very strange to carry a conversation where one party was answering unasked questions. But also kind of cool.

 

“No there's not a top-clearance bar, or no you don't drink there?” you asked.

 

“No, I don't go there to drink,” he said.

 

“Then where?”

 

“My quarters,” he said.

 

 _Oh_.

 

Well that made sense. You were embarrassed to have even asked, it was so obvious. You felt like a popped balloon with the air rushing out of you, because you'd been trying very hard to not think of anything inappropriate, but you were on your third beer, and the Commander has just brought his quarters into the conversation. Yikes.

 

You hemmed and hawed. Should you ask? Was it too forward? Ugh, but it's not like he didn't know what you were thinking _anyway_ , and... faint heart never won fair... well whatever, you had already lost your eyesight and your face, not much left to lose. Besides your head.

 

Fuck it. You were going for it.

 

“Um...if you ever want company, for drinking sir? I can't see you. So we could, I mean you could, drink. With me. And maintain your privacy. If you w-want to.” You spat this out as quickly as possible and took a long drink.

 

Silence.

 

 _Wow_ this was humiliating!

 

“You wish to drink with me. In my quarters.” He said this slowly, and it came across as a statement, but you decided to answer anyway. Just in case he had any doubts.

 

“Yes sir!”

 

“Very well,” he said at last.

 

You couldn't help it. You smiled. Then frowned immediately.

 

His answer was very ambiguous! Did he mean “very well” as in he wanted to drink with you, or did he simply mean that he understood the point you were making? And if he wanted to, did he mean right now, or tomorrow, or next week? Should you ask him to clarify?

 

What would Cori say? She'd tell you to chill the fuck out. If he didn't want company he wouldn't have said yes. Except “very well” wasn't the same as an enthused yes, was it?

 

 _Ugh_. Why were men so hard to understand!?

 

Although you _had_ been pretty forward. Maybe you caught him off guard. But he's the commanding officer of the entire First Order! Maybe he _wants_ people to be forward.

 

Cori would say bad bad **bad** , stop trying to figure out what he wants. Trying to do that never ends well. And she'd slap you for saying you don't like wine. Way too opinionated for a first, or a second...whatever this was.

 

“You have strange notions,” he said quietly.

 

“I didn't say anything! Sir,” you added as an afterthought.

 

You slammed the rest of your beer. Much better than talking. Who needed to talk when they were sitting beside a mind reader anyway? Except now you really needed to pee. And _great_ , now Kylo Ren probably knew you had to pee. Just great.

 

“Tonight,” he said. “Come to my quarters in thirty minutes. I'll send you the room number.”

 

“S-sure! I've got to go home first. Bye sir!”

* * *

 

Once you sauntered out of the lounge and the doors closed, you made a beeline to your quarters. Iris beeped at you frantically.

 

“Yes I know I'm walking fast, but this is very important,” you told the droid. “I need to drink a lot of water, brush my teeth, brush my hair, and get to his room in thirty minutes. And I've gotta pee so bad!”

 

Once home, you shouted at your datapad from the bathroom. “FOD, what time is it?”

 

**Time is 19:42**

 

You used the bathroom, brushed your teeth, and chugged a glass of water. You ran a hand through your hair. It was just barely long enough to tie back, and wisps kept escaping. You ran a comb through it and tied it up again, and hoped for the best.

 

Your datapad beeped.

 

**Incoming message. Sender: Kylo Ren**

 

“FOD, read new message,” you called over your shoulder as you rifled through your closet.

 

**Message contents: room E9-15**

 

“FOD, send reply to Kylo Ren. Message contents: got it, sir” you instructed the datapad.

 

**Message sent. Message read.**

 

“FOD, what time is it!?”

 

**Time is 19:55**

 

How did you waste over ten minutes already!? You shrugged out of your hoodie and sniffed it carefully. It smelled fine. You'd only been wearing it for a few hours. This wasn't a date. It'd be weird if you showed up in different clothes. Fuck it. You put the hoodie back on.

 

“FOD, how long does it take to reach room E9-15?”

 

**Eleven minutes, assuming no wait time at lifts**

 

“Shit shit shit!” you shrieked.

 

You thrust the datapad on top of Iris's head, and sped out the door, the little cube droid scolding you as you walked quickly towards the lifts.

* * *

 

You passed a few people on the way, but once you reached corridor E9, the halls were empty. You stood outside door 15, suddenly uncertain. Iris said there was no door bell. Should you knock, or not?

 

You raised a hand to knock, when the door slid open.

 

“Come in,” he said. He was still wearing his helmet.

 

You took three steps into the room and paused, uncertain where in the room he was standing. Iris was programmed to alert you when you were in danger of walking into something or someone, but generally the droid did not volunteer information on where people were standing unless you asked.

 

You pushed your hood back. Tilting your head to the side, you heard his breathing, finally. He was to your left. You looked in his direction.

 

“Hi sir.”

 

“The couch is to your right,” he said in lieu of greeting. “And there's a chair next to the window.”

 

You found the chair and sat down, unzipping your hoodie. Iris settled by your knee. You told it to switch off and muted your datapad.

 

You could hear the Commander moving around, his footsteps were heavy, so he was still wearing boots. You could do this! You could totally be chill and not freak out and babble like an idiot from nerves. You got this.

 

“What would you like to drink?” he asked.

 

“Water, sir.”

 

“You came to my quarters to...drink water?” he asked.

 

“I'm pacing myself, sir. I've had three already.”

 

He brought you a glass of water and handed it to you. You heard a slight noise to your left, and reached for Iris cautiously. He had set a coaster on top of your droid.

 

“Thanks sir.”

 

Kylo Ren did not prove to be much of a talker even in private. Or maybe he just needed to warm up.

 

“What beer do you drink sir?” you asked.

 

“KP.”

 

 _Ah hah_! A man of discerning taste! Why was it when you discovered that someone liked the same drink as you, it fostered an immediately familiarity? Or maybe you were the only person who felt that.

 

It sounded like he was back in the kitchen again.

 

“KP's my favourite,” you said. “But I guess you know that. I tried Concordian vodka last night, sir.”

 

“And how did you find that experience?”

 

“Terrible. Have you ever drank it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

You heard a mechanical click, followed by a hiss of air, then a thump. Followed by the sound of bottles clinking, and two caps being twisted off. Footsteps. He handed you a bottle of beer and took your empty water glass.

 

“Thanks sir.”

 

“You're welcome.”

 

His natural voice was rich and deep, and not at all what you had imagined. You were determined to hear more of it. You took a sip and pondered what to talk about without sounding like a pushy asshole.

 

He sat down, you assumed on the couch.

 

“Sir, what made you drink Concordian vodka?”

 

“A dare.”

 

“From who?”

 

“Eckard Ren,” he said.

 

Oh! You knew who that was. That was his second in command.

 

“I think I saw him with you once, but it's hard to tell. Aside from you and the short one, they all look alike to me, sir.”

 

“Nileeta Ren would not be pleased to hear herself referred to as the short one,” he chuckled.

 

“What did _you_ think of the Mandalorian's vodka, sir?”

 

“Once was enough,” he said. “Why did you drink it?”

 

“I needed to calm my nerves. Never again.”

 

“Your nerves – why?” he asked.

 

You took another drink to avoid answering that question.

 

“Tell me,” he said.

 

You finished the bottle. There was no getting out of this apparently. Of all the things he wanted to talk about, why this?

 

“Er... you made me a little nervous yesterday, sir. Not that you're terrifying! I guess some people think you are, it's just I wasn't expecting to ever run into you, in the lounge, that's all. And you um, just sat there, not talking, so...it made me nervous. So I had a shot after you left. A few shots.”

 

“You don't find me terrifying,” he said, amused.

 

“No sir.”

 

“You're brave, little krayt.” He got up and went to the other room.

 

 _Little what?_ Crate? Crait? You racked your brain. Was he calling you a box, or a mineral? Was this an insult?

 

He handed you another beer.

 

“A krayt is a dragon,” he said, in response to your unspoken question. “They live on Tatooine, my grandfather's homeworld. Krayt are fierce predators.”

 

“Can they fly, sir?”

 

“No.”

 

 _That figures_. You took a drink.

 

“Are they beautiful?”

 

“No.”

 

You snorted. An ugly thing that couldn't fly. Seemed an appropriate name for you.

 

“To honour their strength and ferocity, the Jedi named two forms of lightsaber combat after them, _Shien_ and _Djem So_.”

 

You knew little of lightsabers, aside from they're deadly, but you knew they were important to Kylo Ren. Maybe this nickname wasn't as insulting as it seemed.

 

“Tell me more of your dragons, sir. Please.”

 

“The indigenous species of Tatooine believe that krayts have powerful spirits, and magic properties in their bones. They are sacred.”

 

You lapsed into silence, which didn't feel terribly uncomfortable, all things considered.

 

“Their pearls can be used in lightsabers. Darth Revan slew a krayt for the pearl, a long time ago,” he added.

 

“I'm reading about Darth Revan,” you told him. “Matt suggested a book, _History of the Revanchist_?”

 

He grunted.

 

“I was wondering sir, does it get less dry? I'm twelve chapters in, the writing is very clinical. Is the whole thing like that?”

 

“I suppose.”

 

“What do you like about it so much?”

 

“The subject matter,” he said.

 

“Revan?”

 

“He was a formidable Jedi, and even more powerful as a Sith. His wife Bastila Shan was also very powerful.”

 

“The only Sith I know of was Lord Vader, sir.”

 

That got his attention.

 

“And what do you think of Lord Vader?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

 

“I admired him, sir. He was an incredible pilot.”

 

“You sound quite certain,” the Commander said suspiciously.

 

“I've seen footage of him in action, sir. He was very skilled. My father served under him too, he told me of Lord Vader's bravery many times. He got me a photo of him.”

 

“A photo?”

 

“Yes. You can see it sometime, if you like.”

 

“Hmph. What do you think of his death?” the Commander asked abruptly.

 

“From what I've heard, sir, his Jedi son tricked him into killing the emperor. There's lots of rumours but... I guess we'll never know the truth. And even if it's true? I wouldn't hold that against him. I've got some Populists in my family I'm not proud of. It's not Lord Vader's fault his son turned out to be a Jedi.”

 

“You've an enlightened point of view, compared to some of your peers,” he said.

 

“I'm Eriaduan sir. Our Empire Day celebrations last an entire week.”

 

You took another drink and raised your bottle towards him. “Down with rebel scum!”

 

After a moment, he leaned over, clinking his bottle against yours.

 

“Come here, little krayt.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Come over here,” he ordered. “Walk straight across, that's it, keep going... stop.”

 

You pushed one leg forward and bumped into the edge of the couch. You sat down. He was to your left. He put a large hand on your thigh, and turned you to face him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we've arrived at the smut! **Or have we**? Mwah ha ha!
> 
> “FOD” stands for “First Order datapad".
> 
> As I work on my opus magnum (snort), I tend to listen to the same music on repeat for days. This is what I'm currently listening to as I slog away. It's listed by artist, then song title:
> 
> Zola Jesus – Veka (edited to start at 1:30 and stop at 4:49, instead of the entire 5:13 min song)  
> Son Lux – Let go  
> Sound of Ceres – Io scene A/B  
> Bassnectar – Into the sun  
> Digital Daggers – Back to the start  
> Chromatics – Disintegration  
> Baio – Dangeroue Anamal  
> Johnny Klimek & Reinhold Heil, Blood & Chocolate, original motion picture score  
> Collide – Predator (final mix)


	7. Chapter 7

You froze as his hand gripped your thigh. With anyone else you'd be more forward, but this was Kylo Ren. It wasn't just that he could kill you easily if he was displeased. You wanted to make this good for him. And if he didn't want you to move, you didn't want to ruin that.

 

“You want this,” he said, not a question.

 

You were overwhelmed with dèjà vu. There was something about the way he spoke, his mannerisms stirred a nebulous memory, so vague you couldn't be sure it was even a memory. It tugged at you, familiar yet strange. His voice shook you out of your reverie.

 

“Say it,” he said, arrogant and detached.

 

“I want this sir. I want you.”

 

He tugged you closer, and his hand began a lazy exploration of your leg, sliding down, then up, to settle on your hip. It felt like he was staring at your face, but there was no way to tell. Your head dropped regardless, not wanting him to see the burn marks on your face.

 

“None of that,” he ordered.

 

Gritting your teeth, you raised your head back up, and cautiously extended a hand towards him, curling it around his arm. Your fingers brushed over the small scar on his bicep indicating a contraceptive implant.

 

“That's better,” he crooned, his lips against your neck suddenly.

 

Not being able to see had never been more aggravating than this moment. His lips ghosted over yours, and pulled away much too quickly.

 

His other hand encircled your throat, the leather glove soft against your skin. He squeezed experimentally and you gasped. He took your chin in his hand, turning your face to the left, then the right, silently examining you.

 

He reached for the zipper of your hoodie, undoing it completely and pulling it off. He started to remove your tank, and you pushed at his hands.

 

“D-don't!”

 

He stopped.

 

 _Oh fuck_.

 

“Shy, krayt?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

 _Disfigured, not shy_.

 

His hands lowered, but didn't release their grip on your body. Your hand ran over his shoulders, and down his chest. At some point he had discarded his coat, and he was wearing a thin shirt. You pushed against it, feeling his firm body underneath. Built like durasteel indeed.

 

You mimicked him, putting both hands on his throat, and moving up to feel his smooth jaw. His hair was soft and silky, curling around your fingers.

 

“What colour is your hair, sir?”

 

“Black.”

 

He pushed your hands away for a moment and took off his shirt, then settled you back against him.

 

“And your eyes, sir?”

 

“Brown.”

 

You ran a hand carefully over his face, stopping at a scar above his brow. He placed his hand over yours, and traced the scar, starting near the centre of his forehead and past his right eye, slashing across his cheek and down his neck. He guided your hand over his collar bone, down his pectoral, pressing your fingertips against his body. It was a brutal scar.

 

He stopped but didn't release your hand, and you rubbed at the skin gently.

 

“Is this old?”

 

“No.”

 

He moved your hand across his chest to his left shoulder, guiding your fingertips to rest on a wide, jagged patch of scar tissue, and then further down to his ribs, to a large scar on the side. Other than his scar tissue, his skin was mostly smooth, with occasional raised marks. He was warm and thrumming with energy, it was somewhat like straddling a wild animal, waiting to be devoured.

 

“Those are the worst ones,” he said.

 

You were silent, and raised your hands back to his face, exploring slowly. His lips felt sinfully plump, and you found yourself leaning forward, then hesitating. His hand gripped the back of your neck and crushed your mouth against his.

 

He kissed you hungrily, and you could feel his arousal stirring against your leg. His hands pulled at the edge of your shirt again.

 

“Close your eyes,” you said nervously.

 

He huffed. “They're closed,” he said.

 

You pulled your shirt off, and undid your bra, then leaned back against him.

 

“Okay,” you whispered. “Don't stare.”

 

“You won't know if I do,” he said.

 

“Doesn't matter.”

 

He had removed his gloves, and his large hands roamed your back eagerly. One hand snaked around you and covered your left breast, thumbing your nipple. You groaned.

 

How long had it been since you'd done this with a man? Not since you had seen Kylo Ren for the first time, which was... a few days after you were stationed on the _Finalizer_. Over three years? The Commander could probably read you the employee handbook and you'd come at the sound of his voice, you were so desperate.

 

He laughed against your neck. He peppered hot kisses against your skin, each one sent flashes of heat between your legs. His mouth dipped to capture your nipple and he tugged on it. You moaned in pleasure.

 

He switched his attention to your other breast, and you were dying to touch more of him, but your arms were pinned by his. Eventually he eased his grip, and you reached for him, running your palm down the firm muscles of his chest, over the edge of his broad belt, and down, to lightly skip over his length and rub his thigh before you gripped him, and God, he was _huge_. Your mouth slackened.

 

You worked at his belt, but couldn't get it undone.

 

“Here,” he guided your hands. “The catch is on the top.”

 

It clicked, and you heard it drop on the floor. You resumed your explorations. The leather pants that had captured your imagination that day in the hangar were high-waisted, and you were unable to get your hands on him. You groaned in frustration.

 

“Up,” he ordered, and you stood.

 

You heard the soft creak of leather moving, then he undid your jeans, tugging them down.

 

You heard a sharp intake of breath, and assumed he must like your panties. His thumbs ran down your hips, skirting along the edge of them, rubbing the black lace softly.

 

“Turn around,” he said gruffly.

 

You had barely done so, when his hand walloped your ass. You cried out.

 

“Quiet,” he said.

 

He pulled you down against his body, between his legs, facing away from him. You could feel his firm cock pressing against your back, and you sighed. His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them together and upwards, before one hand dipped between your legs to stroke you.

 

You shivered in anticipation.

 

He teased you mercilessly, running his fingertips up and down the lace, but not going underneath the material.

 

“ _Please_ , sir.”

 

“No.”

 

He wouldn't let you move much, and you couldn't reach back to touch him, so you contented yourself with trying to be still for his ministrations. He did not seem to be in a hurry.

 

Finally, he slid your panties down, and rubbed one fingertip against your clit. You moaned.

 

He spread you, fingering your opening slowly, and worked one finger inside. You clenched. Everything about this man was _so big_!

 

“We need to open you up, krayt,” he murmured against your neck. “Get you ready to take me.”

 

 _Oh God_.

 

He was relentless, stroking you constantly, rubbing your clit in motions that were at first soothing, then hard and fast. You could feel the wetness between your legs starting to leak out, aiding his progress. He added a second finger, pumping them in and out, and you felt the heat spreading throughout your body. You wiggled against him, and his pre-cum smeared against your back.

 

“P-please, sir, please!”

 

“Tell me what you need,” he ordered.

 

“I need it sir.”

 

“You need _what_?”

 

“I need your cock sir, please.”

 

He made a non-committal noise, and continued to stroke you. His other hand slid up your body to rest against your neck again, and he started to squeeze, tighter, and tighter. Your head lolled against him, and you became hyper aware of the sensations you were experiencing. Something inside you was building, and going to burst, as he stroked you faster, thrusting his fingers into you at a brutal pace.

 

You gasped for air and jerked against him, and he finally released his grip on your throat, one hand buried inside you and the other shot down to worry at your clit frantically.

 

You'd probably be seeing stars right now, if you could see. You quivered on his lap as the orgasm rolled through you, and he kept stroking you, playing with your sensitive flesh, until you started to pull away.

 

“Not so shy after all, krayt.” He nipped your shoulder hard. “Get on your knees.”

 

You slid onto the floor gracelessly, and gripped his thighs to steady yourself. He was sitting too far back for you to do this comfortably, and you pulled at him, motioning him forward. He slid up closer to you, running a hand down your head.

 

You hadn't done this in a long time, and were deciding on the best approach, when he slapped your left cheek so hard that your head snapped to the side. Your eyes watered. A fresh wave of desire flooded you and you could feel the wetness pooling between your things again.

 

His fingertips traced down your right cheek slowly, caressing the scar tissue. The thought of his big hand striking the damaged skin filled you with terror. You sucked in a nervous breath and straightened your posture, wincing in dread.

 

“After you've healed,” he promised darkly.

 

His hand whistled through the air, and struck the left side again, rocking you even harder. You cried out, in a mixture of relief and pain.

 

That galvanized you. You reached for his cock, finding it easily, and strained to wrap your hand around its girth. _Wow_. You swore under your breath. You pumped your hand up and down a few times, seeing what type of pressure he liked, before taking the head into your mouth.

 

His breath expelled in a hiss as you suckled on him.

 

Your other hand tugged at his hip, trying to pull him closer. He was more than willing to oblige, and he pushed into you eagerly.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned, sinking in deeper.

 

Your mouth was already starting to ache from the stretch, but you weren't complaining. Kylo Ren had just given you the best orgasm of your life using just his hands, and you wanted to repay him in kind.

 

“I want you to swallow it,” he told you.

 

You squeezed his thigh in acknowledgement, not willing to stop what you were doing to talk. You had the feeling it wasn't really up for debate, he was telling you how things were going to happen, not asking for your opinion. With a lesser man this might have bothered you, but with the Commander, it felt right.

 

You lifted your mouth off him all the way to the tip, and took him back in as far as you could, keeping your hand wrapped around his base. As you ran your tongue over him, you seriously wondered how this was going to fit inside you later. It seemed like a cliché out of a bad romance novel, but Kylo Ren was _enormous_.

 

“Look at me while you suck my cock,” he muttered.

 

You paused, and raised your head in his general direction. There was no way to tell if your eyes were on his or not.

 

He chuckled softly, and put a hand under your jaw, adjusting you. “There,” he said. “Keep going.”

 

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. How mortifying. He shushed you, and grunted in pleasure at your efforts.

 

“Good girl,” he said.

 

He was thrusting harder against you, and the hand you had wrapped around him was smacking into your face as he pushed, so your hand let go of him, as you focused on trying to relax your jaw for him. Spit was leaking out of your mouth.

 

“That's it,” he moaned.

 

His thrusts sped up, and his breathing was faster, you could feel his body tensing, and with a guttural moan he came, spurting down the back of your throat.

 

You kept your lips sealed around him as he finished, releasing more and more come into your mouth. You tapped on his thigh lightly, and he drew back a bit. You swallowed it all, and then leaned into him, tapping him again. He pushed back inside your mouth, and your lips sealed over him once more, draining him to the last drop, and licking him clean.

 

At last he withdrew from you with a sigh, and pulled you onto his lap to rest your head against his shoulder. You wondered what type of refractory period he had, but decided not to ask. It might sound rude. And you'd either find out by waiting, or you wouldn't.

 

His hands rubbed lazy circles on your hips for a minute, before he held a glass of water to your lips. You were quite thirsty after that, and drank it gratefully.

 

His cock was starting to stir again, and you stiffened in surprise. That didn't take long. His hand dipped between your legs, and he was adjusting your position, when he stilled suddenly, his body tensing. His post-orgasmic languor was gone instantly.

 

“I have to go,” he said, setting you on the couch, and handing your clothes to you.

 

You said nothing. You turned away from him, fastening your bra and pulling your panties up. You were _not_ going to succumb to asking if you did something wrong or any of that dramatic bullshit. Of course this would be the time the zipper on your jeans got stuck. You pulled at it savagely, and finished dressing.

 

“Come to me tomorrow,” he said, the sounds of his armour buckling into place were ominous.

 

“Okay. I can't drink anything tomorrow sir, if that matters. I've got surgery the next day.”

 

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, kissing you deeply. “And don't even think about touching yourself, krayt. I'll know if you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And_ cock-blocked by Snoke! 
> 
> **Public service announcement** : erotic asphyxiation and breath play is very dangerous, and having sex with strangers without condoms is **dumb**! This is a work of fiction, not a how-to guide.
> 
> Writing sex scenes is the hardest part of writing, in my opinion. When I read erotica, terminology is very important for me as a reader. Certain words turn me off so fast it's not funny. I'm conscious that everyone has their own taste, so it's a struggle to word things. And there's a fine line between, am I describing this too much, or too little? Is this too clinical, or too hardcore porn? Have I used this adjective or descriptive line before? Did I use too many tropes in this scene? (I counted at least four.)
> 
> I learned there is a heated debate about the colour of Kylo Ren's eyes, because apparently Adam Driver has “central heterochromia”, which is a difference in colouration of the iris. Are they brown? Are they green? Are they hazel?
> 
> Fear not! I looked at multiple HD pictures to puzzle this out, and you can make an argument for all of those colours, depending on the lighting and what he's wearing. In the SW movies he's usually wearing black, and surrounded by dark walls, so I think it stands to reason he'd describe his eyes as brown.
> 
> I am shocked nobody has announced a Kylo Ren shampoo and conditioner line. He has majestic hair! I was re-watching the scene from _TFA_ when he removes his helmet for the first time yesterday, and it's like _damn_! His hair is just so incredible. It looks so soft and shiny and bouncy!


	8. Chapter 8

The walk back to your quarters was a blur. Your legs were still shaking from the best orgasm of your life, and the want was driving you mad. Your face was sore, and your insides were aching to be filled. You wanted more. Much, _much_ more.

 

On the way back to your room, you ran into one of your neighbours, who grabbed your arm.

 

“What happened to you?” she gasped.

 

You frowned, irritated she had touched you without warning, and pulled away from her. “What?”

 

“Your face is swollen like a grapefruit and you've got handprints on your neck!”

 

 _Oh_.

 

“It's not a big deal,” you said, trying to detach her and continue on your way.

 

She followed you, not willing to drop it. “You should report it. I'll take you to med bay.”

 

“I'm fine,” you told her icily. “There's nothing to report.”

 

“No, you're clearly not,” she said. “If you don't know who it was, you can file a complaint. HR can check the cameras, whoever did this won't get away with it.”

 

For a moment you considered giving her a lecture that what consenting adults did on their own time was none of her business, but thought better of it. You barely knew each other, and didn't want to spend any more time in this discussion.

 

“I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine, please drop it.”

 

“Okay! Sorry I tried to help,” she muttered.

 

Once you got back to your room, you stripped and slumped on your bed. You touched your face carefully. Now that the heat of the moment was over, your face was actually stinging like a motherfucker, if you were being honest with yourself. She hadn't been exaggerating, you ran your fingertips across the skin gingerly, and the left side was puffed up considerably. Your neck was also sore.

 

In your opinion, the best part of a lover willing to get physical was the marks it left on your skin later, it was a major turn on to see bruises last days after the encounter, to feel the soreness. Until tonight, your sexual partners had only left marks on places covered by clothing. In your many fantasies about Kylo Ren smacking the daylights out of you before he ravished you, you'd never considered how it would look in the morning, when you were back at work. This could be a problem. People were going to talk.

 

You turned your datapad back on, and put some music on. You winced as you cleaned your teeth. There was a small first-aid kit in the bathroom, you put a bacta patch over your cheek. Hopefully by morning the swelling would go down.

 

You crawled under the covers and thought about how the evening ended. Commander Ren had been very abrupt, he had to go, but why? He had not received a message that you could hear. Which left three options: his datapad was on silent mode and he saw a message, or he heard something through the Force, or he changed his mind and wanted to get rid of you.

 

Kylo Ren didn't strike you as a man who needed excuses to get someone to leave. You were fairly confident if he was displeased or bored, or had changed his mind, he would just tell you to leave. He didn't need to come up with a lie to get rid of a woman. And he had seemed pretty into it!

 

It was much more likely that something came up and his attention was required elsewhere.

 

So why did it sting so much that he basically kicked you out?

 

You were being childish. Keeping up this train of thought wouldn't lead anywhere good, especially if the Commander heard you thinking this way. Acting like a teenager having a tantrum wasn't going to get you closer to round two.

 

You tried to focus on the good things that happened.

 

One, Kylo Ren was an excellent kisser.

Two, he had a wonderful body, just as you had suspected.

Three, he was not turned off by your physical ugliness.

Four, his cock was porno-sized.

Five, he was as eager to lay his hands on you with violence, as you were eager for him to do so.

 

There had been no talk about limits and safety, which you knew were responsible ways for people to comport themselves, but you also secretly resented. Was it so wrong to want a man to simply take charge and decide, without asking?

 

Your cousin would say you're a terrible feminist. Which was bullshit, because wasn't feminism about having the right to choose? And you chose to get slapped around in bed, so to hell with her and her judgy Core attitude. It's not like you were going to confide in her about this.

 

Or... maybe he just wanted someone, anyone, who would allow him the liberties you were so eager to grant. Maybe he had a particular itch he had trouble scratching and he had been looking for someone who wanted to be thoroughly dominated and you were all he could find. Maybe he wasn't interested in you at all, except as a hole to fill. Maybe he was settling on you.

 

No, no, no, this is exactly what you should **not** be doing. Stop trying to figure out what he wants, stop assuming. It was a few hours, it wasn't dating, it wasn't a life commitment. Just enjoy it for what it is.

 

Even if tonight was all you would ever have with him, it would have to be enough. Although you desperately hoped it would continue. That goodbye kiss, that had felt special. Your face warmed at the memory of that torrid kiss. And his instructions after, the sheer nerve of him, telling you to not touch yourself.

 

 

The things that man could do with his hands, _stars_! You were getting wet again, this was no good. Your cunt was clenching to be filled. You wondered what he was doing right now. Was he thinking of what would have happened, if he hadn't been called away? You hoped so.

* * *

 

At breakfast Cori offered to carry your tray, but you declined, setting it on your droid's flat head. You dined and caught up, devouring your breakfast bagel while waiting for your caf to cool.

 

“OK girl,” Cori said, “spill!”

 

“Spill what?”

 

“Don't even try,” Cori said. “Everyone's talking about it. Is it true?”

 

You busied yourself taking a long sip of caf. “Is what true?”

 

She sighed dramatically. “Did _he_ really kick everyone out of M-lounge and order dinner for two?”

 

You laughed. “No. _He_ did not.”

 

“Well, what happened??”

 

“He bought me a drink.”

 

“And what else!?”

 

“Nothing. He sat beside me while I drank it. And then he left.”

 

“What did you talk about?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“C'mon, I won't tell anyone!”

 

“I mean it, 'nothing'. He didn't say a single word. Just sat there while I drank. Then he left.”

 

“What about last night night? Don't hold out on me, I know he showed up twice.”

 

“Pretty much the same. He showed up in silent mode and bought me a drink.” You omitted the fact that you and the Commander had carried on a small, stilted conversation at your second meeting.

 

“And I suppose this has absolutely nothing to do with the bruises you're sporting?” Cori said.

 

You shook your head. “No comment.”

 

“You should get a hammu, your face looks terrible,” Cori said.

 

“Wow, thanks!”

 

“You know what I mean. I'm not talking about _that_. But it's obvious that you had an _energetic_ weekend. You can't apply your own concealer anymore, a hammu would be a good idea.”

 

She was right. Hair and make-up droids, or HMU, pronounced “hammu”, were popular in the Core, and their use had slowly spread throughout the system. You'd never had use for one before, but it would be nice to always know your hair was decent, and that any bruises were covered up.

 

“Do they carry hammus on board?” you asked.

 

“Dunno, hold on...” She typed on her datapad for a minute. “You're in luck, inventory count is high. I'll go with you.”

 

“You don't need to walk me places,” you grumbled.

 

“I'm not doing this for you,” Cori protested. “I want to pickup some stuff too. Let's go!”

* * *

 

After you paid for the new droid, Cori dragged you back to your quarters to apply some concealer on your face. The swelling had gone down considerably, but she said the bruising was apparent.

 

“And you have _got_ to cover your neck up hon, yikes!”

 

Oh right. There was the matter of handprints.... she helped you adjust your outfit, and then it was time to get to work. You were nearly late, logging in just as the hour changed over, and you sat down with a sigh.

 

The chatter in the room from your Intel colleagues died down as you made your appearance. You were definitely becoming more attuned to sound than you had been in the past, when you had sight. The echo chamber was usually humming with the noise of officers uploading questionable recordings, but it was suspiciously silent right now.

 

People were talking, alright. Not just about the bruises you were sporting, but the company you were keeping lately. Well, there was no way to stop them from talking. But you weren't breaking any rules. You had made sure of it last night. You looked up your supervisor in the company index, and his supervisor, all the way up the chain, and nowhere did any of your supervisors report to Commander Ren. While he was at the top of the First Order, technically, he did not oversee anyone.

 

You ignored them and got to work. You had a lot of files to listen to, and it was harder than normal to pay attention. You put your headphones on and started the first file. Three stormtroopers finishing breakfast. Comparing injuries and talking about weapon choices. You listened to the entire file, but nothing remotely incriminating was said.

 

Next, two officers in a turbolift, a hushed conversation, but not hushed enough. The microphones that covered the ship were very sensitive. Very few people in the First Order realized exactly how numerous the cameras and mics were, after the stormtrooper defected. You certainly hadn't known, before being moved to Intel. This file was interesting.

 

You played the file again.  It wasn't the words they used, it was the tone, the way they tried to speak so quietly of something that seemed perfectly innocent. Which was not needed, unless this conversation was really in code, or about more than it seemed. You flagged the file for senior review, and moved on to the next.

 

Confirming treachery wasn't your current role. Your job was to find the recordings that were suspect, and bring them to the attention of the experts who had been parsing these types of files for years. Maybe that would be you in the future, maybe not.

 

You leaned back in your chair and stretched. Somewhere in the First Order, was an Intel officer listening to two women chat over breakfast, wondering if you and Cori were discussing something nefarious? It made you more determined than ever to say little, if anything, about Kylo Ren to anyone else.

* * *

 

Your shift seemed to stretch on forever, but finally it was time to go home. Iris escorted you down the hall, it was mid-cycle, and the corridors had a lot more traffic.

 

You got home and checked your messages. Nothing.

 

He had said to return tonight, and it was just past 1800. You showered and put on fresh clothes, and lay down to meditate. Or that was the plan. Mostly you lay there getting annoyed you couldn't concentrate and feeling overly keyed up.

 

**Incoming message. Sender: Kylo Ren**

 

“FOD, read new message,” you whispered, grimacing. This was it. Had he changed his mind?

 

**Message contents: Now**

 

You smiled, and headed out the door.

* * *

 

His door opened for you without knocking once again, and you walked in, feeling slightly more confident than last night, but not wanting to seem overly presumptuous, so you waited. You put the droid in shutdown mode. It was very quiet.

 

The hair on the back of your neck was rising. Something was wrong.

 

His strong hands wrapped around you suddenly, there had been no noise betraying his presence. You bit your tongue in surprise and yelped.

 

“Shut up,” he said, his voice distant and cold through the mask.

 

He walked you backwards until you were pressed up against a wall. The cold metal of his mask pressed against your neck as he muttered. “Something truly special.”

 

You got the impression he was not talking to you. Your heart was hammering, and your hands were clenched around his unyielding wrists. He would not be moved.

 

“I will destroy it.” His hand gripped your chin hard, turned your face to meet his masked eyes. “Give it to me. I _need_ it.”

 

Your hands dropped to your sides in submission.

 

“Yeessss,” he hissed in your ear. He stripped you quickly, pinning your naked body to the wall. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, which had you balancing uncomfortably on the toes of one foot. “Yes,” he repeated.

 

His gloved hand cupped your sex possessively, digging into the skin. The harsh fabric of his cowl was rough against your body, scratchy as he forced his bulk against yours.

 

You cried out, not wet enough for this yet.

 

“Quiet,” he said, squeezing your throat tightly. He rubbed you hard and aggressively, coaxing the wetness from your body. “There is it,” he growled low.

 

His large fingers slipped inside you, hooking two of them inside your body, pulling. It hurt.

 

Your sense of dread was growing. He was different than last night. Anger was radiating off him, and danger. You kept your mouth shut, fearing where one wrong word could lead.

 

His erection pressed against you, and the air was filled with wet, squelching sounds as he fingered you roughly.

 

“Never held a lightsaber,” he grunted against your ear. “Tell me krayt. Do you want to hold my lightsaber?”

 

You froze. Last night, you would have said yes. But right now, saying anything seemed very dangerous.

 

The hand at your throat dropped, and pulled the weapon from his belt. You gasped as the cool metal was pressed between your legs, rubbing against your entrance. He wouldn't possibly...

 

He was. He rubbed it up and down your opening, coating it in your wetness, and pressing the tip of the hilt inside you. You gasped in discomfort. It was large and ridged, and it caught on your flesh.

 

“Never held a lightsaber,” he repeated in disgust, and gave it a vicious thrust.

 

You screamed in pain.

 

He worked it in deeper, his patience at odds with the rage emanating off him.

 

“There we go,” he growled, as another inch slipped inside. “Any whore can take a lightsaber. Even a scavenger.”

 

 _What_ was he talking about? You bit your lip, determined to not cry out again for fear of provoking him.

 

At last the weapon was seated all the way inside you, and tears were streaming down your face. He began to pump it steadily, withdrawing it halfway, before ramming it home.

 

“Are you going to take this from me too?” he whispered.

 

Was it only last night he had asked if you weren't terrified of him?

 

He stopped abruptly, dragging you to the ground, the hilt still sticking out from your body. He removed his helmet, and took a loud breath.

 

“You're bleeding krayt,” he said, his voice coming from far away.

 

You winced as he removed the lightsaber, and you could feel it, something dripping out between your legs that didn't accompany the normal wetness of arousal.

 

“I...” he trailed off. “I'll take care of this,” he said.

 

You heard the rustle of clothing being removed, and his warm, naked body pressed on top of you. He kissed you desperately, so hard your teeth clacked, and his tongue probed your mouth greedily. His mouth was insatiable, licking and biting a path down your neck, before biting hard on your shoulder.

 

You groaned. That was going to leave a mark.

 

He kneaded your breasts, laving your nipples with his tongue before kissing his way down your stomach, and then his warm breath was on your mound. You tensed.

 

“Relax,” he said, as his lips slid over your damaged flesh.

 

It stung. He licked a broad path up your labia, and dipped his tongue inside repeatedly, before closing his lips around your clit and sucking hard. He was relentless, tugging and kissing you, coaxing arousal from you. His big hands cupped your ass, pulling your body tight against his face as he worshipped your cunt.

 

You lay back on the floor, writhing and sweating, knees starting to shake. You could feel the pressure inside rising, and wanted it to stop. You didn't want it like this, didn't want to come on his face after something like that. But you started to clench around his tongue, ready and waiting for him.

 

“I'm not going to fuck you tonight,” he vowed. “Not yet.”

 

“W-when?” you demanded, emboldened with need.  It was better than thinking about what had just happened.

 

“Soon,” he said. “Get on your hands and knees.”

 

You obeyed, rising on shaky limbs, kneeling on the floor and supporting your weight on your elbows. For a moment you felt his erection, he slid against your opening, grunting in your ear. He rubbed himself up and down a few times, before easing back a little. He thrust two fingers into you rhythmically and he pumped himself with his other hand, and it wasn't long before he came, his semen covering your ass, and he continued thrusting his fingers inside you, pushing you over the edge.

 

You collapsed on the floor, breathing hard.

 

He gathered you to his chest, holding you tight against him. You could smell your blood on his hands.

* * *

 

**The next day**

You lay on an operating table in the medical bay once more. The nurse had just started the IV to administer the anesthesia, they would begin the skin graft surgery in ten minutes. They expected to finish within six hours, and you'd be kept asleep for four days in the bacta tanks, before spending your final day on the beds, assuming there were no complications.

 

Maybe you'd die on the operating table. Well, unlikely. But it was always a possibility. Sometimes you thought being dead had to be better than this. Maybe in another life you could learn to live with being blinded. But blinded and disfigured was a horrible burden to bear. You were lonely.

 

And very, very confused after last night. He had ripped you apart, before bringing you to another shattering orgasm. He had seemed almost apologetic afterwards.

 

You shifted on the table, cold and uncomfortable.

 

 _Krayt_.

 

You stiffened.

 

Was he... speaking directly into your mind?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reader's 2nd visit to Kylo Ren's chambers happens shortly after he gets chewed out by Snoke over losing to Rey, then throws a tantrum in the elevator. What a jerk, taking his bad mood out on the poor reader. 
> 
> I made a timeline of the major events in SW to help myself visualize. This is the link to my Tumblr post if you're interested. It's a wide picture, make sure to scroll ALL the way right for the best stuff. ;)
> 
> Tumblr post:  
> https://tinyurl.com/ycwgb75e


	9. Chapter 9

You woke up floating in bacta again, your thoughts slow and congealed. The last thing you remembered was hearing the Commander's voice in your head, before they put you under. Or, you thought you heard it. They had already started the IV drip, maybe you imagined it?

 

As you drifted in the tank, you struggled to put a name to what the Commander had done to you.

 

Had he forced you?

 

Had you actually told him no? Had you told him to stop?

 

You remembered putting your hands around his, when he grabbed you. He didn't let go. Then you had dropped your hands. Was that an act of consent? Did you give him mixed signals?

 

It felt like there were two people in your head, arguing over who was at fault.

 

He _asked_ you if you wanted his lightsaber and you did not answer. Wasn't that your chance to say no? But it hadn't felt like a choice at the time.

 

Part of you insisted he should have known better. That whatever dark mood he was in the grip of, he had no right to take it out on you. But you also felt deeply ashamed. Part of you believed that if you had just said one simple word, if you had only told him no, he would have stopped.

 

But wasn't that the same victim-blaming bullshit women always went through? Was it your fault for not telling him no? As he made you scream in pain from being violated, did you really need to say “stop” to make your wishes known? Wasn't it _his_ fault for acting as though he had the right to your body?

 

And yet... you had wanted a man who would take charge and decide. Or, you thought you had. You had never considered he might take things in a direction you didn't want. He was supposed to take care of you, not abuse you.

 

And he can read thoughts. Was it possible... you squirmed over this idea – was it possible he heard your thoughts, that you yearned to cede control to someone stronger? But if that were true, shouldn't he know that you hadn't wanted _that_?

 

The sound of the tank emptying brought you back to the present. A droid ushered you to the showers, you cleaned yourself, and were wheeled back to med bay, to good news.

 

The operation was a success. They said that the new tissue was bonding much better this time, the swelling was significantly less, and assuming no further complications, they would work on your throat next. They were keeping you for several nights, and the next surgery would depend on how quickly your face healed.

 

You sighed. Being in med bay was very boring. All you could do was think, and that brought pain. For the first time, you regretted being able to cry again.

* * *

 

**Sometime later**

The nurse woke you up. A muffin had arrived, along with Iris, and your datapad, which you left in off mode. They told you that your father had called twice.

 

You ate the muffin without tasting it, and started to call your dad several times, hanging up repeatedly.

 

The nurses were checking on you each hour again. They had just finished bringing you back from the showers and settled you in bed, when you heard it, the stomp of heavy boots in the hall.

 

“I don't want visitors,” you clutched the nurse's arm. “I don't want to see _anyone_.”

 

The nurse agreed, and tucked the sheets around you, before exiting the room.

 

The footsteps got louder.

 

You had never felt more vulnerable in your life, and were deeply aware that you were wearing a thin medical gown, no underwear, and you couldn't see.

 

There were raised voices from the corridor. You closed your eyes, hands clutching the blankets. The door to your room opened and shut.

 

It was the nurse again. “Commander Ren is outside. I told him you don't want visitors. I'm afraid he insists.”

 

“Can't I refuse?”

 

“No, you really can't. He's waiting as a courtesy. We can't prevent him from entering.”

 

“That's bullshit,” you snapped. “We have rights to medical privacy! I said I don't want to see anyone, and that includes him.”

 

“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

 

“Then stay! Don't leave me alone with him!” you begged.

 

“The Commander insists that I leave,” she said. “I'll check on you after he's gone, okay?”

 

No. It was _not okay_.

 

The door opened and closed again. She was gone. He however, had not entered.

 

You waited, and waited. What type of sick game was this?

 

The chrono on the wall ticked the minutes away, and finally the door opened again. He walked in and sat down, taking his helmet off.

 

You kept your eyes closed. You started to count in your head, backward from one hundred. Your mother taught you that when you were little, having trouble sleeping. One of the last things she taught you, before she was taken from you.

 

_One hundred. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven._

 

“I know you're awake,” he began.

 

 _Ninety-six. Ninety-five. Ninety-four_...

 

“Krayt,” he said, and laid a gloved hand on top of yours.

 

You flinched. Tears started to run down your cheeks.

 

“Are you in pain?” he asked, and God, if he didn't sound genuinely concerned.

 

 _Yes I'm in pain, you asshole._ _**I'm burning** _ _. Ninety-three. Ninety-two. Ninety-one. Ninety..._

 

“Your face is much improved,” he said. “The surgeon is confident the skin will settle, and the graft scar will only be the thinnest line. It's already looking smoother.”

 

_Eighty-nine. Eighty-eight. Eighty-seven._

 

“You're angry with me,” he murmured. He sighed unhappily.

 

_Eighty-six. Eighty-five..._

 

“How long are you going to persist in this childishness?” he demanded, the frustration in his voice evident.

 

You snapped, and anger overrode fear.

 

“You don't get to be impatient with someone after you rape them, _sir_ ,” you snarled. “Let go of me.”

 

“No.” His grip on your hand tightened.

 

You struggled, but it was no use. He wasn't hurting you, but he wasn't letting go. You were only hurting yourself by struggling against him. There was probably a lesson in that somewhere.

 

He was breathing was loud and fast, and you could feel his stare.

 

“I'm tired. Can't you just leave?” you asked him.

 

Now he was the silent one. 

* * *

 

He returned a few days later, calmer this time. He held your hand again, and spoke to you of random topics. To an outsider, this might appear to be a very ordinary interaction, or extraordinary, considering the man at your bedside was the infamous Jedi killer, the Master of the Knights of Ren. He was not known for making sick calls.

 

Listening to his rich baritone voice, at times you couldn't help remembering the first night in his quarters. And Gods curse you that part of you _wanted_ it. Yearned for it. Laying in the bed, having him so near, so gentle with you, sometimes you felt the stirring of arousal again. It came and went in sudden flashes, you'd be doing well ignoring everything that had happened on the second night, pretending you were fine, and then that low burn would start within you. And then the memories flooded back, reminding you of his transgression.

 

You dug your nails into the palm of your free hand, and kept counting.

 

He ignored this behaviour, and kept up his monologue. He told you of his day. The Supreme Leader was sending him on a mission, and he would be gone a few days.

 

You sagged with relief when you heard that.

 

But he promised to return, and wished to see you when he got back.

 

“I wish for a lot of things, Commander. They don't come true,” you said flatly.

 

Eventually he left, and you spent the night wide awake.

* * *

**A few days later**

The surgeon cleared you for the next surgery, and you were back in the operating room again. This time they'd be repairing the damaged skin on your throat and shoulder. If it was successful, once the swelling was down, the sight of you would hopefully no longer garner gasps of shock once people saw you head-on. And then, all that would be left was your torso.

 

You woke up in the tanks again, and once cleaned and dressed, the surgeon visited. So far, the neck graft looked good. He encouraged you to touch your face.

 

You did, reaching up slowly, wondering what you would discover. You ran a fingertip over your cheekbone, and smiled. It felt like skin this time. Something was different about it, but it was smooth. You ran your fingers over your cheek, exploring your face thoroughly.

 

“The pigment is a perfect match,” he told you. “It was based off the left side. You lost some freckles I'm afraid, but to the naked eye, the graft patch is no different that the real skin.”

 

“What does the scar look like?”

 

“Here,” the surgeon took your hand, and guided your finger in a line from your cheekbone, and back close to your jawline, down to your chin. “What do you feel?”

 

“I'm not sure,” you admitted. “Something weird, what does it look like?”

 

“Imagine your face before the accident. Now there's a fine line running down the right side, less than two millimetres wide. It's just a pink line, it'll whiten over time. You can cover it with makeup if you want. But if you don't, it's nothing that people will point and stare at.”

 

You smiled, and tears ran down your face. “Thank you,” you whispered.

* * *

 

The neck graft was healing very well. They wanted to wait a few weeks before doing the final graft, giving your body time to adjust, and get off the painkillers. You were okay with that. It was amazing, to walk down the hall and not hear people whispering about your face.

 

Your hair had grown out a bit longer, it was now easy to tie back. Nowhere near it's former length, but it was a good start. Your new hammu droid sat in the corner of your bedroom, so far you hadn't felt a need for it.

 

While you waited for the final surgery, you were back to work. You were on the morning shift for awhile, and while you were grateful to keep busy, part of your enjoyment of your new job had soured. While nobody had explicitly said it, you knew the Commander was responsible for having you sent to Intelligence. He had intervened in your health, and saw to it that you were retrained after the explosion.

 

After “the incident” in his room, as you had come to think of it, you were constantly angry. Before that night, you had believed in the First Order, and the people working for it. You had worked hard to prove yourself, put up with the sexual harassment and the hazing of the academy, and been able to overcome that, to be part of something important. Joining the military was your life's goal.

 

Back when you were a TIE pilot, you were one of the people responsible for eliminating rebels, and it was a responsibility you took seriously.

 

After the TIE accident grounded you, although you resented being moved to the mechanic division, you understood. Apart from that supervisor who treated you as something more expendable than a repair droid, the people you worked with were decent people. You were still helping to fight the good fight, you worked on the TIEs for the people who were still able to fly them, and deal with the rebels.

 

The rebellion had been causing instability and terrorism for over thirty years. They had killed your mother, and caused your father's injury. It was a rebel shot that destroyed the circuit board in your TIE, starting the electrical current that fried your nerves, ruining your hands. The rebels had taken much from you.

 

Until Kylo Ren had trespassed against you, you had never had a moment where you looked at a member of the First Order, and questioned their place in this war. He had taken that innocence from you, and there was no way to get it back. Bad people worked for the First Order.

 

And that made you even angrier. Because if bad people worked for the Order, that must mean some good people were rebels, and you didn't want to think about that. You never had thought about it, until the Commander had torn your blinders off by his actions.

 

You'd been laid up in med bay when Starkiller base had been activated for the first time. You heard about Hosnia Prime eventually, and while the loss of life was not inconsequential, you thought it was an acceptable price to pay. This was war, and Hosnia housed almost the entire rebellion, and much of their financing. Eliminating the system was a sound tactical decision.

 

And then Kylo Ren turned your life upside down, proving to you that cruelty existed in the First Order too. It was no longer as simple as knowing the rebels were terrorists, and the First Order was justified in destroying them. There were demons in the First Order, it wasn't the bastion of righteousness you had once believed.

 

Now you had to confront that every moment of the day while you tried to do your job. It was in the back of your mind, pecking and gnawing. _Doubt_. Are we doing the right thing? Am _I_ doing the right thing? It was driving you mad.

* * *

 

You hit the lounge after work every afternoon, although it was a different one than your old favourite. You had removed the _Revanchist_ book from your datapad, and loaded up fresh reading material. You passed hours drinking and reading, or listening to music, before retiring alone to get up the next day and start the cycle all over again.

 

Your datapad was constantly alerting you to new messages, which you declined to open. Every day it notified you that more messages were waiting.

 

You had adopted an attitude that if you didn't see it, or didn't hear it, it didn't exist, and it couldn't hurt you. You were wrong.

 

You would learn this tonight.

 

Iris alerted you to an upcoming doorway in the hall, but no people in front of you, so you didn't slow down as you passed the door. It opened, and a gloved hand grabbed your arm.

 

“You've been ignoring me, krayt.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an exploration of what it's like to be forced to endure the company of someone who has sexually assaulted you. The reader character is not in a position where she can just quit, or tell Kylo Ren to stay away from her. Who is there to complain to about his behaviour? She's drowning in self-hatred and alcohol, and it's probably not going to work out well, but we'll have to see.
> 
> In real life, there are many reasons you cannot leave your abuser, cannot avoid them, or cannot report them. And even if you do report them, the idea of “justice” for sex crime victims is often just that; **an idea** , that's as ephemeral and insubstantial as a light breeze.
> 
> They say that statistically; 1 in 3 women, and 1 in 6 men, will be victims of sexual violence. If you have been a victim of sexual assault, you are not alone. You are not worthless, and it was not your fault. If you need help, here are some places to start:
> 
> Canada, women's helpline: 1-866-863-0511
> 
> Canada, men's helpline: 1-866-887-0015
> 
> America, RAINN, 1-800-656-4673


	10. Chapter 10

You stumbled against him, and he caught you in an iron grip. He held you in a mockery of an embrace as you struggled. His lightsaber bumped against your leg and you recoiled.

 

“Let me go,” you said.

 

“If you would check your messages, you'd know that you had a mandatory performance review after your shift today. Instead, you were found at the bar.”

 

He allowed you to take one step back, but didn't let go of your arms.

 

“What review?” you muttered.

 

“Your excess drinking has been noted in your file. You're on course for mandatory counselling. You have stopped exercising. Your diet is junk.”

 

You erupted in angry laughter. “Are you serious? This is an _intervention_? You guys are worried I'm letting myself _go_?”

 

“You will explain yourself to the medical expert in twenty minutes,” he commanded.

 

“Are you even sorry?” you asked.

 

“You think remorse lives in me,” he drawled. “You are mistaken.”

 

That settled _that_ , then.

 

“Sure.” You tugged back from his grip again.

 

“Where do you think you're going?” he asked.

 

“Home,” you said.

 

“You will stay,” he ordered.

 

“I don't _want_ to,” you said.

 

“You will **stay** ,” he said sharply. “This is not optional, krayt.”

 

“Don't call me that.”

 

“Why not? You liked it.”

 

“That was before,” you snapped.

 

“Before what, krayt? Say it.”

 

“Before you raped me,” you said, in a choked whisper.

 

He pulled you closer and folded his arms around you. “Stop thinking about it,” he said.

 

“I can't!”

 

His gloved hand rubbed circles on your back. “You have to,” he said.

 

You burst into tears.

 

He let you cry it out, but wouldn't release his hold.

 

This was so confusing. He was comforting you, yet he was the reason you needed comfort. And you were responding to his reassurances, as the tension in your shoulders relaxed slightly. Your struggle to get away had lessened, and he eased his grip.

 

This was the moment. You could try to escape, or stay.

 

“ _Any whore can take a lightsaber_.”

 

“Stop,” he repeated. “It's in the past.”

 

“Not for me.”

 

He wiped your tears with his cowl. “They'll be here soon. Appearing distraught won't help your case.”

 

You wanted to shove his hands off. “Why do you care if they fire me?”

 

“I don't,” he said.

 

“Then why are you doing this?”

 

He was silent as he guided you to a conference chair, and waited until you sat down, before finally releasing you from his grasp. He knelt down, masked face close to yours.

 

“If anything will break you krayt, it's going to be me.”

* * *

 

The meeting with your supervisor and the doctor had been short. You received a written reprimand for skipping a scheduled meeting, and excessive drinking. They presented you some statistics of the number of nights you visited the lounge in the last month, and how many drinks you had consumed daily. Consumption was tracked whenever you made a purchase at the bar, and it added up.

 

You couldn't argue with facts. Before the explosion, you had only been having a few drinks per month, nothing concerning. But after the explosion, and being released from med bay, your employee ID was logged entering the lounge every night, drinking for hours. You had also gained over five kilograms.

 

You were ordered to curb your alcohol consumption and to increase your exercise levels. You now had mandatory fitness evaluations every two weeks, indefinitely. You would also be attending therapy starting tomorrow. It would probably be good for you, but you were angry to be pushed into it.

 

Back in your quarters, you ran a bath and attempted to relax.

  
“ _Stop thinking about it_.”

 

The worst part was how he said that as if he cared about you, like he wanted to show you how to stop hurting so badly. Just let it go, and feel better. As if you could just flip a switch in your mind, and turn off all your negative emotions, like some sort of programmable droid.

 

It was easy to dismiss the idea of him having any humanity. He had been so cruel. And yet, he had intervened and gotten you medical care. He'd gotten you a new job. He'd taken steps to make you feel comfortable and fulfilled as you adjusted to life without sight. Then he had done the worst thing you could do to another human being.

 

He had violated you. Then comforted you afterwards. Which offence was more heartless?

 

“ _Stop thinking about it_.”

 

Taking a deep breath, you tilted your head back against the tiles, and started counting in your head again. Every time you skipped a number, you started over. Focusing on that and nothing else.

 

Eventually the chill drove you out of the bath, you towelled dry and slipped into bed. Against your will, you remembered the way he touched you when he had been gentle, and when he had slapped you, satisfying your deepest desire. The way he gripped your neck so tightly, holding you carefully as he restricted your airflow, cradling your life in his hands. His power was intoxicating. Thinking of him was so hateful now. You didn't want to think of him that way anymore.

 

You didn't need a man to touch you to feel pleasure. You explored your body slowly, playing with your nipples, drawing them into stiff peaks. Burrowed under the covers, you started to touch yourself, trying to get your clit to respond to your touch. You weren't getting wet, and gave up.

 

Kylo Ren said that he didn't feel remorse. And yet you had been insubordinate, frightfully so. You had failed to address him properly, spoken rudely, spoken out of turn, argued with him, questioned him. He hadn't punished you, he'd barely scolded you for it. Why would he let you get away with that, if he didn't feel guilty? It wasn't an apology, but it was...something. You just weren't sure what.

 

People had lost their heads for less with Kylo Ren. Everyone knew the story of the unfortunate fuel tech he skewered for looking at him the wrong way.

 

If he felt no regret for what he had done, why was he letting you get away with blatant disrespect?

 

**Incoming message. Sender: Kylo Ren**

 

A pit of dread settled in your stomach as you played the message.

 

**Come tomorrow night, 2100.**

 

You waited anxiously, but no further messages arrived. He didn't need to threaten you with what would happen if you continued to evade him. You really, _really_ did not want to go. The thought of walking to him made you sick.

 

He was such an asshole. He didn't even have the decency to demand entrance to your quarters for _this_ , whatever this was. No, he had to make you come to him, make you be complicit in your own submission.

 

If you couldn't defy him outright, you'd have to settle for small acts of defiance. You would not respond to his message. Let him wonder if you were coming.

 

But who were you fooling, really? He knew that you had no choice. Refusing orders from a superior officer got you sent to the brig. Refusing orders from Kylo Ren could cost your life. Only someone with a death wish would persist in refusing to follow his instructions. And, although at times you had hoped to die following your accidents, your resolve to live was stronger.

* * *

**The next day**

The therapist's office smelled like crayons and lilies. You wrinkled your nose, sitting in an arm chair and twisting your fingers painfully.

 

“Why don't you tell me about yourself?” the therapist began. He sounded pleasant, middle-aged.

 

You stated your name, designation, age, and homeworld.

 

“What brings you to my office today?”

 

You sighed deeply. “I've been ordered to report to you by my supervisor.”

 

“Any ideas why that is?” He was unruffled by your reaction.

 

“I've had some traumatic injuries recently,” you shrugged.

 

“Have you been in therapy before?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“What challenges are you going through right now?” He tapped on his datapad.

 

“You mean aside from nerve damage ruining my career, going blind, and having half my skin cooked off?”

 

He cleared his throat. “Aside from that, yes.”

 

“That's it,” you muttered angrily.

 

“You've had a lot of difficult changes in a very short amount of time. Anyone would be struggling to cope. So how are you coping?”

 

“Apparently I drink too much and eat too much shit.”

 

“What do you think about, when you're drinking?” he asked.

 

“Seeing, usually. So unless you can turn back time, I don't know why I'm here,” you snapped, dashing tears from your eyes.

 

“Nothing can undo what's happened. But therapy can help you learn tools to deal with your trauma, to process it-”

 

Process it? _Wow_. What a sanitary word. As if what happened to you was a basic life experience to be catalogued in a holopad somewhere. That you should just _process_ it, and move on. You hated this sanctimonious fucker already.

 

“What are you expecting to get out of these sessions?”

 

“Job security,” you mumbled.

 

“Is that it?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“I see. If you could wave a magic wand, what changes would you make in your life right now, to make you feel happier?”

 

You failed to restrain your laughter. “Are you...are you serious?? Wow, you're serious. Okay, I guess I'd like to be able to see again, that would be grand. Let's undo the nerve damage while we're at it, and stop him from...”

 

“Him?”

 

“Nothing!” you snarled.

 

He made more notes on his datapad. “You've gone through some very big adjustments this year, haven't you? Two accidents, changing jobs three times, your physical health. That's a lot.”

 

You grunted in acknowledgement.

 

“Do you have a lot of friends on board, people to talk to?”

 

“I lost all of my friends after the TIE accident except one, so I'm gonna go with no.”

 

“That sounds lonely.”

 

“Pft! I lost most of my income too. When they kicked me to the mechanic division, my pay dropped over forty-five thousand credits annually. I'm behind on my student loans. Do you have any idea how expensive Tir academy is?”

 

“That must be hard. Do you miss being a pilot?” he asked.

 

“What's that got to do with anything?”

 

“Maybe nothing. I'd like you to answer the question though.”

 

You sighed. “Of course I miss it.”

 

“Did you enjoy mechanic work?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Why's that?”

 

“It was... I don't know! Imagine going to the opera, but not being allowed to hear the music. Would _you_ like it if you couldn't be a doctor anymore and they gave you a job cleaning medical droids?”

 

“No, I suppose I wouldn't,” he agreed. “You spent several weeks in the med bay, receiving substandard care, before Commander Ren met with you.”

 

You stiffened in the chair, and nodded.

 

“That must have been frightening, to be in such a vulnerable position with the Commander.”

 

“Is that a question?”

 

“Just an observation. He's an intimidating person.” He flipped through his datapad. “You were transferred to Intelligence after your recovery, and have had five surgeries so far, and have more scheduled.”

 

“Uh-hmm.”

 

“Are you frightened of the procedures?

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Let's take a break for today, you can come tomorrow at 1500.”

* * *

 

As you took the turbolift, you had plenty of time to argue with yourself. You shouldn't go anywhere near Kylo Ren, certainly without receiving a full and sincere apology. You definitely should not be in a room alone with him. Yet what other choice did you have? Beg an audience with Supreme Leader Snoke and ask him to save you?

 

The journey to corridor E9 took a lot less time than you remembered. Every step that brought you nearer caused the fear to increase. What would happen if you were sick on him? Not even out of spite. Just from pure reaction.

 

His door opened and you stepped inside.

 

“You're late,” he said. He wasn't wearing the mask. “Sit.”

 

You decided to stand, as close to the window as possible, refusing to face him. Every step into that room was torment, terror spiking through you like acid. Your sightless eyes were trained on the expanse of space outside his window.

 

His footsteps were lighter than usual, barefoot maybe. He set a drink on top of your droid, which you had no intention of consuming. Whatever this summons was, it wasn't a social call, it wasn't a date. It would be nice if he would stop acting thoughtful and get to the point.

 

“Would you like that?” he asked suddenly. His voice was close. “Do you want me to force you to do things? Give you something to hate?”

 

“I already have something to hate. You've given me enough.”

 

_Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven._

 

“Stop doing that,” he said.

 

 _Ninety-six. Ninety-five_.

 

“You will stop counting,” he said sharply.

 

“I will stop counting,” you agreed.

 

What the hell was that?

 

Did he just... change your _thoughts_? You were going to be sick.

 

Forcing yourself not to move, you dug your nails into your palms, and thought of other things to distract yourself with. You wrenched your fingers sharply, twisting the little finger over the ring finger, then trying to pull them onto your middle finger, before they slid back with a painful snap.

 

He sighed heavily. “Do I need to tell you to stop that too?”

 

You ignored him.

 

“What do you need, krayt?” His frustration was mounting again.

 

“I need you to leave me alone. I need to leave this room. Sir,” you said quietly, with as much dignity as you could muster.

 

“Didn't you tell me the other night that we don't always get what we want?”

 

Would he tolerate being ignored further? How long would he let you be silent? Should you poke the sleeping rancor and find out? You closed your eyes, trying to imagine the stars outside the window.

 

“There aren't any stars outside the window,” he said. “The ship is moored above Tehar, it takes up the entire view.”

 

“That's very helpful sir.”

 

“Careful, krayt.”

 

The warning was clear. He would tolerate your disrespect up to a point, and you were approaching that point at lightspeed.

 

Your eyes were burning. How did things deteriorate so quickly? How did you go from trading hero-worship stories with a nerd in the med bay, to meeting the Commander and having the best sexual encounter of your life, to _this_? How could your feelings for someone change so drastically in such a short period of time? It had been only days ago that Kylo Ren held your esteem and respect. Then he ruined everything.

 

You wanted to hurt him for that. Not just for the pain he caused you, but for destroying one more thing you believed in. To think there had been a time that you used to leave the room when people talked down about him, not wanting to hear it. And now, knowing that none of the stories about his brutality lived up to the truth. If people knew what he was really like, they'd run screaming.

 

“Why do you see me more clearly than she does?” he asked, his voice soft, reverent. “You see me as I am.”

 

Did this asshole seriously make you come over so he could wax poetic about another woman?

 

Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, you asked him, “If _her_ opinion matters to you so much, why don't you invite _her_ to your quarters, and leave _me_ alone?”

 

“Persist in your obstinate behaviour and your stay will be indefinite,” he said sharply.

 

Your mouth went dry. Did he have that power? Could he just detain you, forever?

 

“Keep pushing and you'll find out,” he muttered darkly.

 

God, you loathed him. Hated his deep voice, hated the smell of his cologne, hated his touch, and hated how good it felt. You hated that his hands made your body sing in a way that yours failed to do now. When you tried to wipe away the memory of his reviled touch with your own, you were left wanting.

 

“I warned you not to do that krayt,” he growled against your ear.

 

You jumped. How did he just appear out of nowhere like that? You chewed the inside of your cheek. This was **not** happening. Your rapist was not going to scold you about your masturbation habits. This was bullshit.

 

“What were you doing yesterday, while you were ignoring my messages?” he demanded, placing his large hands on your hips.

 

“Masturbating,” you enunciated slowly. You would not give him the reaction he wanted.

 

“Didn't I tell you?” He pulled you back against his body, one hand at your waist, the other reached down to cup your sex in his palm and squeezed gently. “This is mine.”

 

“No, it isn't!” you snapped. “Let go!”

 

He held you in place easily as tears spilled down your face.

 

“Yes, it is,” he whispered against your neck. “This is mine, _you're_ mine.”

 

His lips found yours.

 

You bit him, and twisted your head away. “If I'm yours, then why did you do that to me?”

 

He pressed his lips against your cheek, kissing a path down your neck to nip at your throat. “Because...without strife, the victory has no meaning, krayt. Without strife, one does not advance. Without strife, there is only stagnation.” He punctuated each sentence with hot kisses against your neck.

 

“As far as pickup lines go, I've had better.”

 

“Shh, krayt.”

 

He swept you into his arms easily, and carried you to his bedroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kylo is in a very dark head space right now. He's been abused and belittled by Snoke again. He is grieving the loss of Han Solo, while trying to cling to the belief that his fall to darkness is complete and no compassion lives within him. When the protagonist asks if he's even sorry for what he did, of course he says no.
> 
> The ship being parked above Tehar is canon. In 34 ABY, the same year that _TFA_ and _TLJ_ occur, Kylo Ren led First Order forces on a murder spree and slaughtered an entire village on Tehar. Two children escaped and the Order tried to track them down, but they got away. That is where Snoke dispatched Kylo in the previous chapter.
> 
> When Kylo provides his "reason" to krayt for why he raped her, he is quoting Yuthura Ban, a Twi'lek who lived in the Old Republic era (4,000 years before Kylo's time). Yuthura was a slave, who became a padawan, but abandoned the Jedi over their tolerance of slavery. She joined the Sith academy on Korriban. She met Darth Revan, tried to betray him, but he spared her. She eventually returned to the Jedi order. Have you played _KOTOR_? You should really play _KOTOR_!
> 
> I added an excellent Kylo pic to my Tumblr if you're interested:  
> https://revanrenispurrfect.tumblr.com/image/181856111889


	11. Chapter 11

Your legs buckled when he set you down, but he didn't let you fall.

 

“The bed is just behind your legs. Now strip,” he ordered coldly.

 

You shook your head.

 

The Commander slapped your ass lightly, with the same amount of disinterest a farmer would smack the rump of a recalcitrant horse. There was nothing passionate about it. Your face burned with outrage.

 

“You can either accept your punishment with grace, or you can force my hand. Which will it be?” he asked, his mouth next to your ear.

 

You removed your jacket and drew your shirt over your head. He took them from you. You kicked off your shoes and socks. Removing your pants must have taken too long, since he slapped you again.

 

“I'm working on it!” you hissed.

 

His hand connected with your face harshly. “Don't back talk.”

 

You unsnapped your bra, and hesitated when you were down to your panties. You were loathe to lose the final barrier between him and your body, even if it just a scrap of cloth. It was stupid, really. Panties could not protect you from this monster. But somehow, taking them off yourself made it feel like you were complicit in what was to follow, and that hurt deeply.

 

You stood for a time with your thumbs hooked into the tops of your underwear, unwilling to bare yourself completely. With a sigh you pushed them down, and stepped out of them.

 

“Good girl,” he said. “Sit on the bed.”

 

He sat beside you, running a bare hand over your arm appreciatively. “You think you know what's going to happen,” he said in a conversational tone. “You're wrong. So get comfortable krayt, I'll be back.”

 

And then he left.

* * *

There was no way to track the time, your droid and datapad were in the other room, switched off. You called to Iris, but it only responded to commands within a short radius, and this room must be too far.

 

It was slightly too cold in the room, but you'd shoot yourself before getting under his blankets. You had not eaten since lunch and were getting hungry. And really bored. The only sound was the quiet hiss of the ventilation system.

 

Was he really just going to leave you naked on his bed all night? How would you know when day cycle had arrived? How would you know when to get ready for work? You'd just gotten a bad performance review, missing a shift would be big deal.

 

You could go activate your droid...but if he were to return while you were out of bed, you had a feeling that would end poorly. And there was no way to tell if he had even left his quarters. He might be sitting on the couch, waiting to pounce the moment you got up. What an asshole.

 

You had counted down from one hundred to zero multiple times, to assure yourself that time was passing. So there seemed to be a limit on how long his mental suggestions lasted. That was good to know.

 

Sleep didn't come, you were much too keyed up for that. You distracted yourself by thinking of the various methods of torture and punishment you were aware of. What exactly did he have planned for you? Your back was starting to get stiff from lying down so long.

 

Gradually you became aware of his presence. There wasn't a specific thing that signalled he had returned, but you could feel it, like a heavy pressure in the room. Eventually he approached the bed.

 

“Do you have to use the bathroom?” he asked.

 

You did, but that was none of his business.

 

“Last chance, krayt.”

 

You glared at him. Or at least, hoping you were glaring. But pissing yourself on his bed wasn't going to improve this situation.

 

“Yes.”

 

He guided you to the fresher door. “Walk straight, go, keep going, stop. The toilet's on your left, the sink is straight across from it. Soap's on the left. Toothbrush on the right.”

 

He got you a toothbrush?

 

You waited until the door behind you clicked shut, and felt your way through the fresher. After you relieved yourself, you washed your hands, and felt the right side of the sink. Sure enough, a new toothbrush waited. Cleaning your teeth meant less time in his company, so you took your time as you brushed, trying to not think about anything in particular.

 

The door opened.

 

“You're taking a long time,” he remarked.

 

“It's rude to open the door when people are using the bathroom,” you said.

 

He made a noise in his throat. “Give me your hand.”

 

You rinsed your mouth, and held your hand out. He guided you back to the bed.

 

Now what?

 

“Lie down,” he ordered.

 

“What time is it?” you asked.

 

“Just past 0300.”

 

He had left you alone for _six_ hours?

 

“I have to be at work in four hours!” you said indignantly.

 

“Hmm,” he sounded very unconcerned. “Then you best stop wasting time.”

 

He ran his large hands over your body with a casual sense of ownership, that while infuriating, might have been hot, under different circumstances. He held your breasts, squeezing them roughly. “These are perfect,” he declared in that deep, sinful voice.

 

He leaned down to kiss them, pressing his mouth over your skin, laving you with his tongue.

 

Couldn't he just get on with this stupid punishment, so you could go to sleep?

 

He raised his lips to yours with a sigh, and began to kiss you. His lips were plush and soft, and insistent. He pulled you against his body, and probed your mouth, pushing his tongue against yours.

 

You could take this. He couldn't _make_ you participate. Except actually, he could. Your stomach turned at the thought. What would it be like to be told to kiss someone back, and have no control over your body? You started to shake uncontrollably.

 

“Stop that,” he murmured against your throat. “Keep being good, and I won't have to do that.”

 

He wrapped your hair around one fist and pulled your head to the side suddenly, exposing your neck. He kissed and sucked on it, before biting down hard, making you hiss. He returned to your mouth, alternating bites and small nips with long, soothing kisses.

 

Kylo Ren was a good kisser. It was a shame he was such a horrible person. You would have liked kissing him, if things between you were different.

 

“You'll like it,” he promised. “You do like it. I can feel it.”

 

You evaluated your body's responses while he kissed you. Your nipples were stiff, your skin felt sensitive, and if you shifted your legs, yup, you were turned on. But that didn't mean you wanted to do this. Physical responses were just that, physical. A commanding officer had ordered you into his bed. You had no choice in this matter, and it didn't matter if your body responded to his.

 

He wrapped those big hands around your throat, and began to squeeze. He'd stop, let you breathe, and squeeze again. He ravaged you with his mouth, and increased the pressure on your neck.

 

You were starting to feel light-headed. You were aching for more, but not willing to touch him of your own volition. This was wrong. This was still the man who raped you. No matter how nice his mouth felt, he had violated you, and shown no remorse.

 

He pinched you suddenly. “Come back to me,” he muttered hoarsely against your throat.

 

His lips claimed yours again, and he kissed you for so long, and so thoroughly, it began to feel like there was nothing else in the world besides his hot mouth on yours. The ache between your legs was frustrating and burning, but you would not ask him to touch you there.

 

Finally he stopped. He left the bed, but returned shortly.

 

“Spread your legs,” he ordered.

 

You shook your head. There was no way in hell you would sleep with him willingly.

 

“Relax,” he crooned. “You're safe, tonight.”

 

Grudgingly you spread your knees. He pressed a warm, damp cloth between your legs, and cleaned you gently and carefully, wiping away all traces of your arousal. He dropped a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

 

“Stand up and put your hands on my shoulders” he said, kneeling at your feet. “Lift your left foot” he put something around your ankle, “now the right. Stop squirming.”

 

He pulled the thing up your body. It felt like a pair of underwear made from very stiff material. He adjusted and pulled at it, you could hear something compressing, pulling it tighter against your skin, then a sharp click. Your heart sunk in your chest.

 

“Do you know what this is, krayt?”

 

You had a hunch, but prayed you were wrong. Slowly, not wanting to confirm your suspicions, your hands trailed over your hips and down, sliding over smooth material, which was shaped like a pair of bikini bottoms. The material felt like firm plastic, there was no give. It was fitted very snugly, with a small piece of metal in the front.

 

“What is that?” you whispered.

 

“A lock.”

 

“This is a...?”

 

“Yes.” He sounded pleased with himself. “You're going to wear this for two weeks.”

 

“How am I supposed to use the bathroom in a chastity belt?” you demanded.

 

“The material has drainage holes.”

 

“What about...?” This was too humiliating. You were _not_ going to discuss bowel movements with him.

 

“There's an opening at the back. You'll want to spend extra time in the shower getting clean,” he said smugly.

 

“This is bullshit!” you shouted.

 

He pushed you back onto the bed, and crawled up to join you. Wrapping one heavy arm around you, he kissed and nibbled on your neck, and bit you again.

 

“This is punishment. For the next two weeks, you're going to wear skirts. On-duty or off, only skirts for me. Do you understand?”

 

“I don't want to!” you said.

 

“This isn't about what you want, beautiful girl,” he murmured, thrusting his erection against your hip. “This is about teaching you to listen.”

 

“What if I don't want to?”

 

“Then two weeks becomes four, and so on. This isn't coming off until you learn to behave. Understand?” His playful tone had a sharp edge to it.

 

You wouldn't have dignified that with a response, except he pinched you sharply.

 

“Yes,” you muttered angrily.

 

“Good,” he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Now sleep. I'll wake you.”

* * *

He woke you at 0630, and a fresh uniform was waiting. You dressed angrily, tucking your blouse into the pencil skirt and zipping it, smoothing it down your thighs. He handed over your coat and shoes, and led you from the bedroom, to where your droid waited.

 

He pressed you against his body, sporting another massive erection, and kissed you soundly, before locking his helmet into place.

 

“One more thing, krayt. You will come to my quarters directly after your shift. You'll be spending the night.”

 

You bit back a curse.

 

He slapped your ass hard, causing the material of the chastity belt to dig into your skin.

 

“F-fine!” you yelped.

 

He escorted you to the door, and walked with you down a corridor. His steps matched yours.

 

This was...odd.

 

When you got to the lifts, a few people were already inside the elevator. You could hear their frantic shuffle as they crowded to one side to make way for the Commander. He waited for you to enter, then followed. He pressed two buttons, presumably one for you, and one for himself. He stood right beside you, his arm pressed against you.

 

This was the slowest lift ride ever. As the AI announced the floors, you swore you felt him touch you. In fact, you were _sure_ his hand was resting on your hip. You brushed a hand discreetly to check, but there was nothing there. The feeling shifted, moving down to cup your ass. What the hell was this? _Oh_. This was... he was using the Force. To fondle you in public. What a fucking asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult. I wrote myself into a corner, because after the lightsaber rape, to make any sort of headway for a relationship between the protagonist and Kylo, he has to become less of an asshole. Then he orders her around like a dog, and punishes her for masturbating without permission. Doesn't make him very sympathetic!
> 
> I racked my brain for the best way for Kylo to punish the protagonist. Slapping or hitting was out, because she likes that. I went with ignoring her, and then orgasm denial via a chastity belt. I did a night's worth of research on chastity belts (you're welcome) to write the next two chapters, specifically how do women use the bathroom with a long-term belt on? What I discovered ruined my appetite for the evening, but gave me lots of useful information for the next chapter, haha.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated to include humiliation and some behaviour that is approaching watersports.

Your shift passed very slowly, and you were keenly aware of the hard material of the chastity belt under your skirt. It dug into your skin, and you constantly shifted in your seat, trying to get more comfortable. There had been no time to visit your quarters this morning and use your hammu droid, and judging by the whispers coming your way, you were fairly confident that Kylo Ren had left marks on your neck again.

 

On your first break, you learned exactly what type of punishment he was subjecting you to.

 

You had to pee, and sitting on the toilet, unable to remove that thing from your body was pure hell. You knew you had to pee, you _wanted_ to pee, but your mind rebelled against urinating while your urethra was covered by material. Over half an hour passed while you sat on the toilet without anything happening.

 

Finally, thankfully, someone else in the lavatory washed their hands, and the sound of running water pushed your body into action.

 

You cringed as you urinated, the liquid was not going down into the bowl. Instead, it was pooling in the crotch of the chastity belt, pressed up against your body, slowly draining through the holes in the belt. It felt disgusting. Minutes passed to the soft plink of urine hitting the toilet bowl, gradually decreasing.

 

You stood up angrily, and felt more urine sliding down your legs.

 

What the fuck?

 

You sat back down, wiping your thighs furiously. You stood up cautiously again and...yup, there was still more! You stood again, half-bent over the toilet now, as the remnants of your empty bladder finally dripped down. You wiped at the belt with toilet paper, but it was no good. The inside of the belt where it pressed against your skin felt warm and damp, it was like wearing clothes you'd wet yourself in.

 

His demand that you only wear skirts was beginning to make sense. At least with pants, you wouldn't feel so insecure, worried that at any moment a drop of urine might slide down your leg.

 

You would kill him for this.

 

Over lunch break, you thought of various ways to end his life, he deserved to suffer for doing this to you. And all for what? Because you had masturbated? It was your body! He had no right. You hadn't agreed to enter any sort of power play relationship with him. He was making a lot of assumptions.

 

The problem was, you were going along with those assumptions. Because you had to. Telling him “no” had no affect on the Commander. The unfairness of this situation made your blood boil.

* * *

 

The afternoon was interrupted by your second therapy session, which was even more uncomfortable than the first. You contemplated telling the therapist exactly what Kylo Ren was doing to you. Pride stopped you. The therapist had no power to improve your situation. At best, you might evoke some pity, but no assistance.

 

After work, you left the echo chamber as quickly as possible, and when you got to the lifts, you hesitated. The Commander had instructed you to go to his quarters directly after work. But you really, _really_ wanted your hammu droid. If you were going to be his plaything for the next two weeks, you didn't want to show up bruised and mauled at your desk every day.

 

Plus you had to use the bathroom again and wanted privacy.

 

It was only 1800. You decided to go to your quarters first. You pressed your hand against the panel by your door, and it made an unusual beep.

 

What the hell?

 

You swiped your hand again. Another beep.

 

Had he seriously locked you out of your own room!?

 

You sighed, and made your way to Kylo Ren's quarters. His door opened for you, but there was no one inside. There was no telling when he would return.

 

You explored the fresher, locating the towels and soap. You stripped quickly, and used the toilet. It was equally terrible as the first try this morning. Needing a shower to properly clean yourself after using the bathroom was absolutely mortifying.

 

Showering was nearly as difficult as using the toilet, wearing this thing. Even after the shower was turned off, water caught in the belt continued to drip slowly down your legs. You kept patting the belt dry, but every time you moved, more dripped out. This was awful.

 

You grabbed a fresh towel, wrapped it around yourself, and pressed the loose end between your thighs.

 

He still wasn't back.

 

You sat on the couch with Iris at your knee, fuming in silence. Maybe he'd let you out of this torture device if you ruined his leather couch.

* * *

 

Later he entered the room and set his helmet down. He didn't acknowledge you, and you were determined to not break. You could ignore him too. You listened to his footsteps as he divested himself of his armour, went to the other room, came back, all without speaking.

 

Eventually he sat beside you, wrapping one arm loosely around your shoulders.

 

“How do you feel?” His tone conveyed curiosity more than concern.

 

“Unsanitary.”

 

He laughed softly. “It's made from hypoallergenic synth-weave, it's permeable. Soap will go through it, but you'll need to spend extra time rinsing to get it out.”

 

“I don't _feel clean_ ,” you spat between gritted teeth. “This is disgusting.”

 

He kissed your temple. “You'll adjust.”

 

“I want my hammu,” you said sullenly.

 

“Your what now?” he asked.

 

“My hammu droid. To cover up the marks you leave on me.”

 

“No,” he said, pressing his lips against your bruised throat. “I like you this way.”

 

“Nobody else does,” you said.

 

“Nobody else matters,” he said. “Just us.”

 

_Us_. That stirred a feeling in you that you didn't want to examine closely, so you shut up.

 

He started typing on his datapad. “What do you want for dinner?”

 

You were hungry. But... you were not looking forward to eating food while trapped in this _thing_. Urinating in a chastity belt was a nightmare, you couldn't imagine passing solid food while wearing it.

 

“A nutrient shake, a berry one,” you said.

 

“Besides that, krayt. Pick some real food.”

 

“That's all I want,” you insisted.

 

“Liar.”

 

He typed some entries on the datapad, and dinner arrived shortly after.

 

“Come,” he said.

 

He guided you to a table and put your hand on a glass. With your other hand you explored the table surface, and found a plate and utensils. He had ordered your shake, and a meal. You sighed.

 

It was delicious food, you couldn't fault his tastes. But you were not looking forward to digesting it later.

 

It was strangely intimate to dine with someone you couldn't see. Neither of you spoke, the silence was only broken by the scrape of utensils. You wondered what facial expressions he made as he chewed. Nobody looked intimidating while they were eating. You thought back to the night you wondered if he drank through a straw while wearing his helmet, the first time you had made him laugh.

 

After dinner he passed you a bottle of beer. He sat on the couch to work on his datapad.

 

You claimed the chair by the window, not willing to tolerate his touch any longer. You were at a loss. He had ordered you to spend two weeks in his room. What were you supposed to do?

 

One sip turned into two, then you drained the bottle.

 

“You're supposed to limit your drinking” he said in a mild rebuke.

 

“You're the one who gave it to me,” you said sourly.

 

He didn't get up, but you heard the fridge open. Moments later, a fresh bottle nudged at your hand. That was pretty cool, even if you were positive you hated him. Having the Force must be amazing.

 

“Thanks,” you said.

 

“I had your clothing brought over today,” he said. “It's in the right side of my closet.”

 

You nodded.

 

“How am I supposed to exercise with this thing on?” you asked suddenly.

 

“Hmm?” he said.

 

“I've got mandatory exercise this week, how am I supposed to do it wearing this _thing_?”

 

“Probably with a great deal of discomfort,” he said. “Get ready for bed. I'll be in soon.”

 

You brought your datapad to the bedside table, before returning to the fresher, where you took your time. After another horrible experience urinating, you cleaned your hands and teeth, and got into the empty bed. Would he care what side you claimed? You opted for the side closest to the fresher door. Just in case.

 

The mattress was a little more firm than you preferred, but the sheets were soft and silky, obviously a high thread count.

 

He was silent as he disrobed and got into bed. He tugged your hips so that your ass was pressed against him.

 

A thought that had nagged you the previous night was still on your mind. Where did he put his lightsaber when he took off his clothes?

 

“Is it in here?” you asked fearfully.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can you put it somewhere else?”

 

“No. It's just an object, krayt. It can't hurt you.”

 

“You can,” you whispered.

 

He grunted and put an arm around you. “I won't,” he promised. “Stop thinking about it.”

 

“I hope I get piss on your sheets,” you muttered.

* * *

**The next day**

 

You awoke hot and uncomfortable. The Commander's arm trapped you against his body and he was immovable as stone.

 

_Probably to keep me from running away_.

 

His weight was crushing, and making you sweat. You pushed at him, but it was futile.

 

“Wake up,” you said.

 

“Hmm?”  His voice was husky with sleep.

 

“You're squishing me! Let go,” as you tapped on his arm.

 

No response.

 

“Sir? Can you move – thank you,” you said, as he finally released his death grip.

 

“How did you sleep?” he asked, biting your neck.

 

“Terrible. I'm hot and sweaty. And your pillow sucks,” you said tartly.

 

“It's standard issue,” he said.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Your own quarters had a nice big fluffy pillow which you had paid extra for. The standard issue pillows were thin and uncomfortable, how anybody slept on them was a mystery.

 

“What colour are your sheets?” It didn't matter, but you were curious.

 

“Black,” he said.

 

_Of course they were_.

 

“Are all of your clothes black?” you asked.

 

Before he could answer, the morning quiet was shattered by the scream of TIE fighters. It must be 0600.

 

Beside you, the Commander tensed. “A strange choice for your alarm clock, krayt.”

 

“I like it,” you said, hastily instructing your FOD to switch off.

 

“Do you always set it so loud, or was that for my benefit?”

 

“It's always on max or I sleep in,” you admitted. “I'll turn it down. Don't you need an alarm to wake up?”

 

“No.”

 

He took your hand, and walked you into the shower, stepping in behind you.

 

His shampoo smelled very nice, you could admit that, as he lathered it and washed your hair. He cleaned your body slowly, paying special attention to the scar tissue on your torso. His big hands cupped your breasts, rubbing your nipples while you tried your hardest to not give a reaction. Your heart was pounding though.

 

He knelt at your feet and washed between your legs. “Shy again?” he asked.

 

“Can't you take it off when we're in here together?” you complained.

 

“No,” he pinched your thigh. “Keep asking and you'll earn another week.”

 

“I don't _feel clean_ ,” you insisted.

 

He made a non-committal noise, and ran his hands over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to wash you thoroughly. You blushed. Having a man wash your asshole felt a lot more intimate than letting him finger you to an orgasm.

 

He worked his way down your legs, before washing each toe leisurely.

 

He tilted the water spray towards the lower half of your body. “Raise your leg, krayt,” he instructed, hooking your leg over his arm so the water would rinse more of you.

 

After the shower he towelled you dry, and combed your hair. He helped you into your clothes. It was...kind of nice, in a way.

 

Breakfast was a cup of caf, fruit, and a muffin. Which was weird, because that was your favourite breakfast. And he couldn't know that. Well, actually it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he knew that. But still. It felt weird, to be cared for and fed with such attention, by someone who was forcing you to wear a chastity belt.

 

While you ate, he issued more orders.

 

“During your punishment, I want you back here every day after work, unless you have therapy or a workout. No socializing. No drinking.”

 

You sighed. You had expected this. But it was humiliating to be treated like a naughty child. You wanted to argue, but felt it better to wait until the chastity belt was removed before trying to stand up to him. You didn't want to risk him deciding you had to wear it longer by provoking him.

 

When it was time to go to work, he walked you to the lifts again. The elevator was empty.

 

He backed you up against a wall, pinning your wrists above your head, as his mouth descended on yours. His kisses were hot and possessive, sending jolts of arousal through your body.

 

The elevator was slowing down, someone was going to enter. You squirmed away from him, but it was useless. His grip only tightened. Not wanting to be outed as the woman fucking Kylo Ren in a turbolift, you pressed your face against his chest, hoping you wouldn't be recognized.

 

“G-good morning, Commander, sir!” an officer yelped.

 

You didn't recognize their voice, but it didn't matter. This was _exactly_ what it looked like, and this was going to be all over the ship by mid-morning.

 

“You saw nothing in this lift,” Kylo Ren said smoothly.

 

“I saw nothing in this lift,” the officer repeated.

 

“You will wait for the next lift.”

 

“I will wait for the next lift,” the officer said.

 

The door closed, and the Commander coaxed your head back up so he could nibble on your bottom lip, sucking it hungrily into his mouth. His tongue entered your mouth, seeking yours, and good God, how were you supposed to get any work done today thinking about this??

 

The lift slowed once more.

 

“Be good for me,” he said, and gave you a final kiss, before releasing you.

 

You exited the lift, conscious of his gaze on your back. Maybe it gave you an extra wiggle in your step. Maybe.

 

He was volatile, and confusing, and had done horrible things to you. But... sometimes his touch was nice.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Cori sent you a message. She wanted to meet up after work. You racked your brain for excuses. There was no graceful way to tell her, “I'd love to but Kylo Ren is punishing me and I'm not allowed to see my friends at the moment.”

 

You didn't want to tell her about your arrangement with the Commander, or whatever this thing between you was. You didn't want to explain that he had assumed ownership rights of you, that he thought it was acceptable to punish you.

 

You didn't want to tell her that you, a grown woman, were allowing Commander Ren to do this to you. That you had given him your tacit approval to treat you like this, that you accepted his right to tell you what you could and could not do.

 

Because when you tried to find the words to explain any of this to Cori, it felt like you were complicit in all of this.

 

Which was complete bullshit. He had locked you into a chastity belt without asking you, and you couldn't force him to take it off. And yet... you had walked into his room of your own accord.

 

But you _had_ tried to ignore him! You had ignored his messages, and all that got you was getting yanked off your feet into a room where he put his hands on your body again, and threatened to _break you_. Then he ordered you to come to his quarters.

 

What were you supposed to do? Run around the ship and avoid him? Refuse to go? Tell your supervisor? The only person who could overrule the Commander was the Supreme Leader, and he didn't bother with the problems of the crew who ran the war machine. You had to return to the Commander's room, you had to do the things he told you to do.

 

So why did you feel ashamed of your complicity? Should you have struggled harder? Said no louder, said no more frequently?

 

Cori wouldn't understand. Nobody would understand. You couldn't see her like this, you didn't trust yourself to keep it all inside.

 

You ran a hand over your face and dictated a message to your datapad. _Sorry, I have therapy and med bay stuff for the next two weeks. I'll let you know when I'm free, ok? Miss you! :)_

 

Today was the first of many mandatory work outs, and you weren't looking forward to it in the slightest. Getting hot and sweaty while wearing a chastity belt sounded like the opposite of fun.

 

Then 1800 rolled around, and it was time. You hadn't been to the gym in weeks, and if you were going to be honest with yourself, all those muffins were giving you a muffin top. You had definitely put on some weight recently, and the workout clothes felt a little tight.

 

On the walk to the gym you pondered exercise options. You assumed it would be the treadmill or walking the track with Iris, you felt uneasy trying anything above basic cardio without being able to see. While you didn't need sight to do squats or planks, you were not about to do them while wearing this torture device.

* * *

After five minutes of brisk walking, you were ready to murder Kylo Ren again. The chastity belt was warm, making you extra sweaty, and digging into your skin. You sensed chafing in your future, and maybe a yeast infection.

 

The gym was busy, lots of crew did a post-shift workout, so you stuck with the treadmill. You'd save the more adventurous stuff for a time when it was less crowded. You set the machine for thirty minutes, and increased the volume of your datapad so the transmitter in your ear was louder.

 

As you walked on the treadmill, you tried to think about positive things. Being able to listen to music without needing headphones was good. Having breakfast delivered and not having to go to the cafeteria was an upgrade. Your face barely hurt at all anymore. You had a steady muffin supply. You had a good friend in Cori. Your new career was interesting with room for advancement.

 

Compared to what was bad in your life, it still wasn't much. But it was something. Your new therapist had told you that people who look for the negative in life often find it, and you'd gotten a great deal of pleasure from telling him that you couldn't look for anything, being blind and all. That shut him up. He clearly wasn't used to counselling people with any type of disability, probably because the First Order always discharged them.

 

That sent you down a familiar train of thought. Why had Kylo Ren intervened in your medical care, and saved your career? You were nothing to him. When he met you, your face resembled melted slag. It couldn't be physical attraction, and he didn't know you to have a personal connection. So why did he care about some random person in the burn ward?

 

The therapist guided you back to the present moment, and you had apologized. You probably shouldn't antagonize him. You were lashing out, and the therapist made a convenient target. A safe target. You couldn't take your feelings out on Kylo Ren. You wouldn't take them out on Cori or your father. Who else was there? Lashing out wasn't a good long-term strategy, but you weren't really thinking long-term anymore.

 

That opened a new avenue of conversation in therapy. Your life goals evaporated the day your TIE was shot down. Waking up from the first accident, learning you would never fly again, that killed something inside you. Every day since that moment had been going through the motions. The therapist quizzed you about whether or not you were experiencing suicidal ideation.

 

This was hard to explain to the therapist; you weren't actively _trying_ to die, you weren't doing things that would put you at risk, it's just... you had no interest in anything anymore. Was that the start of suicidal feelings? The therapist didn't offer an opinion, just a long “hmm” and entered notes in your file.

 

He had given you homework. You were to come back to his office with one thing you wanted to start doing for yourself, for pleasure or self-fulfillment. Something that would add a little meaning to your life. You pondered the possibilities while you walked on the treadmill.

 

You drank to kill time, you listened to books to kill time, and that is what your life had become. How were you supposed to find joy in such a meaningless existence? It had you stumped.

 

You knew being blind wasn't the same as being paralyzed, or being dead, but nothing made you happy anymore. Your father lost a limb to the rebels, but he enjoyed life, he was a happy, caring person. When you thought about things that used to bring joy, you came up blank. Maybe talking to your father would help.

 

The treadmill's chime alerted you it was starting the cool down cycle, shaking you out of your thoughts.

* * *

Back in Kylo's quarters, you showered, and explored his closet. He had exaggerated when he said your clothes were brought over. He had taken a _small selection_ of your clothes; your work uniforms with skirts, a few off-duty pieces (with skirts), your lingerie, and some heels.

 

It pissed you off that he had gone through your lingerie. That was very private. Seeing a woman's lingerie collection was a privilege earned through trust, and he had violated your trust. You didn't like the idea of him picking through it and choosing which pieces you'd wear. You didn't like that he knew what each piece looked like now. You didn't like that he knew that you wore it under your clothes every day.

 

And why would he bring your heels? You hadn't worn them in months.

 

You ran your hands over the shoes, trying to recall the last time you'd worn any of them. It was... a staff party maybe? The first pair felt like your Coruscant red leather pumps, you could tell by the detailed stitching around the toe. You tossed them back in the closet. Your stilettos were here, and you only had one pair, so these were black. Definitely not wearing those. He'd also brought some of your heeled sandals and sling backs. Who knew Commander Ren had a shoe fetish?

 

Following his orders, you put on a skirt when you got dressed, and went to the living area to wait. You'd kill to be able to relax in sleep pants or yoga pants. Wearing skirts all day was annoying.

 

You assumed he would take care of dinner again, and there was absolutely nothing for you to do except think about your homework. Was drinking really all you had been doing since you got out of med day? Had it become your life?

 

You called your father. The conversation was better than the last one, he was in the middle of telling you about the neighbour's son who had moved back home, when Kylo Ren returned home. The Commander was in a foul mood, judging by how quickly he threw something at the wall.

 

“What's that noise, sweetheart?” your father asked.

 

“My next door neighbour. He's very inconsiderate. I'll call you later, okay?”

 

“Okay _nieva_. Talk soon,” he said.

 

“ _Vlaen_ , _eoq_ ,” you ended the call.

 

Kylo Ren sounded irritated. “I believe I said no socializing.”

 

You bristled. “My therapist gave me homework, that was part of it. And talking to my father isn't socializing, he's family.”

 

He stormed to the bedroom. You weren't going to chase after him. You weren't his after work pick me up.

 

You sat in the chair thinking. What made you happy?

 

The therapist had said if you can't think of anything that makes you happy right now in the present, start with the past. You strongly resisted that idea, believing it would just bring up all the things you couldn't have anymore. But you weren't getting anywhere by sitting here and trying to think of things that currently made you happy, since nothing did make you happy.

 

Okay. So you'd try it his way.

 

What _had_ made you happy in life? You began to dictate notes to your datapad.

 

Flying. Your cat Tofu. Being with your family. Was that it? Surely there had been more things.

 

You frowned as you searched your brain. Teaching at Tir had been a joy, mentoring new pilots had given you so many good memories. Add that to the list.

 

You loved to ski. There was something magical about being high in the snowy mountains, away from the noise of civilization. When it's just you and the sounds of nature, birds tweeting, ice melting and dripping down the branches, the wind passing through the trees.

 

You knew this therapy exercise was bullshit. You couldn't have any of these things anymore. Mom and Tofu were dead. Dad was far away. You would never fly again. Tir wouldn't take you back, and skiing blind sounded like a terrible idea.

 

What about relationships? Did love make you happy? Had you ever been in love? You'd had a few relationships, and feelings were involved, but... none of them had been what you were looking for. Did sex make you happy? Depended on the partner.

 

This was pointless. Even if a relationship would make you happy, that wasn't going to happen, especially not while you were Kylo Ren's plaything.

* * *

“What did you talk to your father about?” he asked suddenly.

 

“Wuah!” You were startled, and answered him in a sharper tone than was wise, “That's none of your business. **Sir** ,” you squeaked, as your throat constricted slightly.

 

“It isn't,” he agreed, his voice low and dangerous. “Tell me anyway.”

 

You opened your mouth to answer, when you felt a curious sensation. Something rippled through the air, and all ambient sound was gone.

 

"Yeah, me too,” Kylo sighed. His voice had a strange, echoing quality.

 

What was going on? You hadn't said anything.

 

There was that uneasy buzzing in your head again, you hadn't felt it since the med bay. You shook your head, it was like trying to shake free of tar. It was louder, growing more persistent, and you clawed at the sides of your head. It was beginning to hurt.

 

You were starting to panic.

 

And then everything was back to normal.

 

“What was _that_?” you asked.

 

“Nothing,” he growled. “Come to bed, krayt.”

 

He was unusually subdued once you got into bed. You were not going to beg him to talk about his problems if he didn't want to. Maybe the Supreme Leader had called him.

 

Your lips twitched. You knew that when two Force-sensitives communicated, it wasn't the same as a holocall. Was there an actual term for it? You could ask the man at your side, but you refused. You weren't friends. You were his prisoner. You weren't going to indulge your curiosity about the Force by engaging him in conversation unless it was necessary.

 

You got a surprise when you lay back. His ridiculous excuse for a pillow was gone. In it's place was your treasured tomuon pillow. You ran a hand over it in pleasure.

 

Pillows, you thought to yourself, as you drifted off. Good pillows make me happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! My health took a turn for the worse, and I'm sick again. It really sucks and I'm going back to bed now. I'm struggling to get much done on my main story, I'm finding it easier to write this one right now.
> 
> I feel so bad for our protagonist, having mandatory exercise and unable to escape that horrible chastity belt would be so uncomfortable. Only 13 days left before she gets it removed, hopefully.
> 
> The true torture is the humiliation, because essentially, the urine filters down through the part of the belt that covers the crotch, and can have some small drainage holes, but the idea is that you're unable to wipe all the urine away, and that's part of the humiliation, that as you stand up after using the toilet, urine will keep running down your legs. So Kylo forcing her to wear a skirt is adding extra humiliation on top of a humiliation sundae. My limited understanding of having bowel movements while wearing chastity belts is that it's messy, and you'll be showering a lot.
> 
> The protagonist and her father end their phone call with some made-up Eriaduan words, which are deliberately not explained at this point.
> 
> At the end of this chapter, Kylo experiences his Force bond with Rey for the third time, while our protagonist is present. How awkward!
> 
> I post occasional stuff on Tumblr related to my writing: **revanrenispurrfect.tumblr.com**


	14. Chapter 14

Your ship hurtled through space, chasing the rebels. Your squad flew in groups of three, you held the left position, keeping up with your leader easily. The X-wings ahead dipped and rolled, but weren't gaining any distance from the TIEs.

 

Your thumb caressed the trigger button. You were ready, it only took a moment to get a shot lined up, you just needed to be patient.

 

Your squad leader called a warning, something was coming in from behind. But your radar was blank. You fought the urge to spin around and look, and kept your eyes on the target.

 

“Negative, red leader. Nothing on radar.”

 

She told you to pull back, and you did, wheeling your ship to the side and up, glancing down to your radar constantly, and to the empty view port in front of you. Looking for the telltale red lights of the X-wings, and not finding them. Trying to spot a ship in the heat of battle with the human eye was difficult, and you were starting to panic.

 

Then you saw a flash of red fire to your right.

 

 _Shit_.

 

They were on your tail. You flew evasively as you could, but the problem was not only were you blind to the rebels, you were blind to your comrades. Trying to evade could lead to a crash with anyone.

 

“Red leader, my radar's down! Tell our guys to stay clear!”

 

You shot down like an arrow, rolling your TIE and making a long loop back to the command ship. Staying in this fight made you a liability, you needed to get to ground before you caused an accident. You spied the main hangar and sighed with relief.

 

Almost there.

 

Another burst of red fire shot over your head.

 

_Shit, shit, SHIT. Just breathe, dodge, breathe..._

 

You adjusted your trajectory for a landing, when you felt it. Something hit your ship, sending it spinning. Blue fire crackled over the control panel, burning your hands, and your ship went into a tailspin. You were falling, down, down, down...

* * *

 

You woke in the Commander's arms, as he shushed you like a child. You were crying.

 

He carried you to the fresher, pushing you under the lukewarm water, and gradually raising the temperature. He held you silently under the spray, until your shaking stopped.

 

You had that nightmare often, and it never got easier. The last thing you remembered from that mission was the flare of blue light in the cockpit, and then waking up in the med bay. Recovery. Test flight. Learning that the nerve damage was worse than the doctor suspected. Your hands shook on the controls, and you missed nearly half the shots you fired. Then being demoted.

 

You were desperate to think of anything else.

 

Someone had contacted Kylo Ren through the Force last night. At first you had thought it was Supreme Leader Snoke, but the Commander had spoken very informally to him, if that were so. And although you didn't know the relationship between master and apprentice, you knew everyone on the ship was terrified of the Supreme Leader. So you thought it unlikely to Kylo Ren would be so disrespectful to him.

 

Maybe it was one of his Knights?

 

You didn't know why this made you so curious.

 

You were fairly certain the Commander had done something to you so that you couldn't hear the conversation. It made you angry that he thought it was acceptable to just interfere with your mind like he did. Why couldn't he just leave the room like a normal person who wants a private conversation? Or ask you to leave the room?

 

Unless he was keeping your presence in his chambers a secret? If that was the case, he was being awfully careless about it, he had basically walked you to work two days in a row. People were bound to notice.

 

“You're thinking awfully hard,” he murmured against your neck, holding you against his chest.

 

“Stay out of my head,” you told him.

 

“It's not deliberate,” he said.

 

You were silent as he dried you off. You cleaned your teeth and poked at your face. Did it feel different? Sometimes you thought the new skin was obviously synth-skin, it felt different, so it had to look different, right? They told you that it looked normal, but not being able to see it, you weren't convinced. The doctor wanted to wait another four weeks before starting the graft on your chest. You ran a hand down your side. The skin was only smooth to your collarbone, before giving way to rough, cracked scar tissue, that wrapped around one breast and down your rib cage. You didn't need to be able to see it to know that it looked hideous.

 

You headed to the closet, but he took your hand and pulled you back to the bed. Maybe he had weekends off? From... whatever it was exactly that he did? Did Hux get weekends off too?

 

The Commander bit your collarbone.

 

 _Was that for thinking about Hux_!?

 

He bit you again.

 

“Stop that!” you spit at him.

 

“I'll stop when you do,” he said.

 

Was that... _jealousy_?

 

All thoughts of anyone else left your head abruptly as his lips claimed yours, and he kissed you senseless. How any person could be this good at kissing was a mystery. Sometimes you were positive you hated him, and yet... when his mouth was on yours, you felt pathetically grateful you got to experience his kisses. They were _divine_.

 

He kissed you tirelessly, and expertly, as if he had nothing better to do than spend his entire morning in bed with you, just kissing. You had never been kissed so thoroughly in your life, and it was incredibly arousing.

 

You were both naked, and your hands ran down his body, to find him hot and hard against you. You were so fucking horny, desperate for something, anything, to touch your clit, and you wriggled against him in futility.

 

The torture device he locked you into allowed for nothing to touch your sex and you groaned in frustration.

 

“Are you really,” you gasped between kisses, “going to keep do-ing this to me?”

 

“Doing what?” he chuckled, as his lips captured one of your nipples, and tugged lightly. “What?” he repeated, pulling harder.

 

“G-getting me all worked up but,” you concentrated to get the words out, “not letting me come?”

 

In lieu of an answer, he doubled down on his exploration of your body with his mouth, those plush lips were everywhere. Except the one place you were dying for them to go.

 

You were not going to beg him. It wouldn't do any good, and it would only serve to humiliate you further. You felt your wetness leaking out and it was driving you mad.

 

His big hands traced down your ribs, resting at the top of the chastity belt, where he rubbed small circles on your skin. “It hurts, doesn't it?” he asked.

 

“G-go to hell!” you said.

 

“Do you want to come?” he asked, sounding mildly amused.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” you hissed.

 

His questing hand cupped your bottom, exploring the small amount of skin uncovered by the chastity belt, and he pressed a finger to your anal opening. “Have you had a man in your ass, krayt?”

 

“N-no.”

 

“But you've wanted it,” he crooned.

 

You nodded.

 

“We could do it right now,” he said. “If you want to come? I'll make you come.”

 

You froze. The Commander had a **massive** cock. You were concerned about taking him the regular way, let alone...that.

 

“Another time then,” he said, his voice dark with promise. But his teasing hands kept rubbing the sensitive skin of your anal area, making you wiggle against him. It wasn't unpleasant, per se, just...strange.

* * *

 

Eventually he stopped his torture, and you got out of bed. Breakfast was simple, and you lazed on the couch in a robe, feet tucked up underneath you. He sat at the other end of the couch, doing something on his datapad.

 

You'd given it a lot of thought. If you must spend eleven more days in his company, you would prefer to talk to each other like normal human beings. Giving him the silent treatment was tiring, and ineffective, since he could read your mind as he pleased.

 

This didn't mean you were over what had happened, you told yourself. You were making the best of a shit situation. The silent treatment might offend him, and God only knew what he might do.

 

And it certainly wasn't because you were lonely, or wished to hear his voice.

 

“Do you get days off?” you asked him.

 

“Not really. I...” he paused.

 

You waited, wondering where this was going.

 

“But my time is my own unless I'm needed on a mission,” he said. “Most days I go to meetings or read reports. And train.”

 

“How do you train?” you asked.

 

He got up from the couch, and you thought that meant the conversation was done. He returned a few minutes later, handing you a mug, cautioning you it was hot.

 

You sniffed, it smelled like tea. Like Eriaduan black tea. Which the ship's kitchen did not keep on board. You took a cautious sip. Yes, this was definitely Eriaduan. Why had he gotten it? You wanted to ask, but weren't sure you were ready to learn the answer.

 

“If my knights are on the ship, we train together. If I'm alone, with droids, or sometimes stormtroopers,” he said.

 

“What can stormtroopers do against you?” you wondered.

 

“They try to shoot me.” He made a slight emphasis on the word “try”.

 

The thought made you smile. You'd have liked to see that.

 

“Are you training today?” you asked.

 

The couch dipped, and he was suddenly much closer. He lay down with his head on your lap.

 

 _Oh_.

 

This was...unexpected.

 

“No,” he said. “I'm not.”

 

You were very conscious of the mug of hot tea in your hands, which you could easily dump on his face, if you chose. Of course that would be a terrible idea, tempting as it was.

 

“So what are you doing today?” you asked.

 

“Nothing. Meditating, maybe. What are you doing today?”

 

“Listen to music probably. Or a book. Being blind is pretty boring.”

 

“Did you finish _Revanchist_?” he asked.

 

“No,” you said sharply.

 

This was weird. It was almost like the awkward chitchat of getting to know someone, except you knew each other intimately already, and you weren't sure you wanted to get to know him any better. You were so angry at him. He had hurt you so badly. Yet you yearned for him anyway.

 

Your hand crept down to rest on his head, and he grunted in surprise. You tried to picture his face, but your mental image was very vague. You wished you had been able to see him unmasked, just once.

 

You leaned back against the couch, trailing your fingers through his hair gently, marvelling at how soft it was.

 

“How far did you get in the book?” he asked after awhile.

 

“Halfway, I think.” You pushed away the upsetting thoughts that accompanied his mention of the book, and focused on the fragrant cup of tea he had prepared for you. You could do this. You could make the best of this situation.

 

 _Well, here goes_.

 

“What's something you do when you're alone?” you asked.

 

He stilled. “Calligraphy,” he said suspiciously. “I write in Kittât, the Si-”

 

“The Sith language,” you said. “I know.”

 

He was silent as you played with his hair.

 

 _Maybe he doesn't know how this game works_? _After all, he'd been shipped off to a monastery before joining the First Order. Maybe he didn't know basic courting rituals. Not that you two were dating! But...maybe he needed some help in this department. Plus it's not like there was anything else to do, trapped with him for almost two more weeks._

 

“It's your turn,” you prodded him.

 

“For what?”

 

“Ask me a question,” you explained.

 

“Oh. What's your favourite animal?” he asked.

 

“Cats. Where would you spend all your free time if you could?”

 

“In your cunt,” he said without hesitation.

 

You cuffed the side of his head lightly. “I'm serious!”

 

“So am I,” he replied. “I was patient while you recovered, then you had to go and misbehave.”

 

His hand reached back to curve around your hip. “I'd have been inside you so many times already, if you had been good.” His big hand wandered down your thigh. “But you weren't,” he squeezed hard, “so we have to wait.”

 

You were tempted to point out that _he_ was the one who decided to lock you into a chastity belt for two weeks, and _he_ was the reason you had to wait, but bit your tongue. He knew that already, baiting him was unwise. He'd already told you that asking him to remove the belt would mean it stayed on longer.

 

“What planet would you spend your time on, is what I meant,” you clarified, blushing furiously.

 

He thought about it for awhile. “Medriaas,” he said eventually. “You?”

 

The knowledge that he would not apologize for the mortal sin he had committed against you rankled. But you couldn't go back, and if there was any hope of going forward, you needed to find something better to hold onto than your anger at him. This wasn't forgiveness. This wasn't acceptance. This was how you would survive.

 

Maybe if you tried hard enough, today would be what you focused on when you thought of the Commander, instead of the violent transgression he told you to forget. You shook your head to clear those thoughts away, concentrating on how silky his hair felt.

 

“Averam,” you said finally. “What type of music do you like?”

 

Within a few moments, music started playing from his datapad. And that's how you spent an afternoon with Kylo Ren, playing twenty questions while he dozed in your lap, listening to ambient music from the Rim.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is what my brain came up with while working through problems on my main story.
> 
> This is my first excursion into writing in the 2nd person POV, and using a reader insert character. I'm unsure what direction this is going, aside from silly and smutty. I don't even _like_ Matt the radar tech, but this premise doesn't work without him, so... sorry, not sorry. Matt's not going to be a large focus of the story however.
> 
> The reader character is permanently blinded. There will be no medical miracle. My reasoning is that, in a galaxy far, far away, they couldn't even save one woman woman dying of heart break, and they can't reattach severed limbs, so perhaps there might be cases of blindness they cannot cure. Just roll with it!


End file.
